


Sanguine Eyes

by skater_boi_tim



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bottom Jason Todd, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Lovers, Fanart, First Dates, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Jason is a damsel, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Rick-Rolling, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-05-08 02:59:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14685060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skater_boi_tim/pseuds/skater_boi_tim
Summary: In which Jason and Tim grow tired of hating each other's guts.





	1. 40 oz. to Freedom

 

“You’re in Hood territory, Red Robin.”

 

The abrupt cackle of a poor connection made Tim wince. He adjusted the tiny piece in his ear, tuning it until the screeching stopped. “Normally, I’d agree, but I’m on civilian business, so get off this line.”

 

“Get out of my neighborhood.”

 

“Get over yourself,” Tim growled. He was far from being in the mood for Jason’s banter today.

 

“If you’re here on civilian business, then why are you wearing your comm?”

 

“Spotify. We have unlimited streaming now. Or did Bruce not include you on the family plan?”

 

Even through the poor connection, Tim could hear Jason’s hiss of anger, although these days it seemed more put-on than genuine. Tim almost missed the days when that kind of comment actually got a rise out of Jason.

 

“Does B know you're using that thing for recreation? I'm pretty sure that's in direct defiance of the Vigilante Employee Handbook."

 

Funny. Cute, even, but if Jason was close enough to break into his line, he was close enough to catch Tim cracking a smile. Tim ignored Jason, stony faced, as he scanned the street for his destination. The sun had mostly set behind the skyline, and the streetlamps had yet to go on, casting a dim, blue pallor over the storefronts and Tim had to squint to read some of the less well-kept signage. 

 

It should be somewhere up on the right…

 

“Tell me how you patched it in,” Jason demanded in a way that was eerily like Damian. Or any child, really.

 

“Who says I actually did? Seriously, get off this line.”

 

“Then state your business.”

 

“Are you fucking kidding me? What is this, your treehouse? Are you gonna waterbomb me?”

 

“Something like that,” Jason said, accompanied with the distinctive click of a trigger being primed. Tim rolled his eyes, with enough theatricality that wherever Jason was watching from, he’d be sure to see it. Three or four years ago, Tim would've been terrified of retaliation, and it occurred to him that he wasn't sure when that change took place.

 

It wasn’t that Jason and Tim, or the rest of the so-called family, were on terrible terms. They were on fairly equal ground with Jason these days, actually. Jason still pushed Bruce's limits and Dick tried too hard to keep the peace, but as long as they stayed out of each other's way as much as possible, there was little friction to be had. In fact, if Damian didn't pull so much of Bruce's attention with his throes of adolescence, Tim himself would be on much thinner ice. Whatever sense of self preservation Tim had that made sure he toed the line was gone.

 

He and Jason seemed to have that in common. It hadn't caused them to get along any better, but it did ensure that Tim was far less afraid of Jason than when he was sixteen.

 

Ahead, Tim saw his destination. Stephanie had called him that morning in a lather of gossip and glee, which all but demanded that Tim investigate for himself. The place looked fairly inauspicious from the outside, save for a beautifully written chalk sign with the business’s name and specials, and, surely enough, the reason Stephanie had called Tim specifically.

 

“There’s no way you’re old enough to go in there.”

 

“There’s no way they'll check,” Tim retorted before walking in, and it was true. Carding was not a practice in the East End, not even in the daytime, or even in the more gentrified areas like the small downtown Tim found himself in tonight.

 

“A Red Robin ale, please,” Tim said, choosing a seat at the far end of the bar with a full view of the taproom.

 

“What the hell? Why do you get a beer named after you? This is--”

 

“Your neighborhood,” Tim mocked, mouthing, ‘Bluetooth,’ at the bartender when he threw a confused glance Tim’s way. In all seriousness, he was excited. Usually capes just got ice cream flavors named after them, or maybe burger specials, but beer was new. Hell, a brewery was new. Gotham wasn’t exactly a millennial hotspot.

 

“Is it good?”

 

“If I tell you, will you leave me alone so I can enjoy it?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Caramel-y. Not sweet, though.”

 

“Hm. Okay.”

 

The next few minutes were blessedly silent. Jason must have gotten bored and moved on, and Tim relaxed in his seat for a moment, taking a long sip and letting the malty notes slip lazily down his throat. It really was a nice beer, and not just because it bore his name. Tim wondered if they often crafted beers inspired by Gotham's personalities.

 

Tim began to canvas the place, noting that the bartender was the only employee on the premise and the coasters were hand-stamped; it was a small business. Two taps already bore a ‘Tapped Out’ sign; the small business was booming. Most of the patrons looked to be college students, moms and dads, dates. Good people, or as good as one can be in Gotham.

 

“Bartender, I’ll have your finest vigilante-inspired brew, please,” Jason’s voice boomed, and this time, it wasn’t inside of Tim’s head. Jason strutted up to the bar and pulled up a chair for himself. “The ‘Red Robin ale,” he over-enunciated with a shit eating grin.

 

Tim hissed out a sigh, closing his eyes for one final, peaceful second. When was the last time Tim had a nice, untormented outing? When, God?

 

Jason made a show of getting comfortable on his bar stool, wiggling his bottom around and hooking the heels of his boots into the rungs while the bartender poured his drink, like ruining Tim's night was the best thing he could imagine doing. 

 

“So, replacement, if you’re really here in civilian business,” Jason said in an undertone after the bartender had moved on down the line. “Why are you packing?”

 

He said the word 'replacement' with a familiarity that was unearned, like it was a fond nickname or inside joke. It made Tim's face heat up, made him want to fight. But not here.

 

“Maybe I’m just happy to--” Tim winced and shook his head. Not that either. “Nope. Never mind.”

 

Jason actually snorted, and Tim felt his cheeks warm in an entirely different way. This whole experience--Jason hacking his feed, cracking jokes, banter, _sharing a beer_ \--had Tim on edge with a nervous energy that wasn't quite anxiety or thrill or anything Tim recognized. It was simply unfamiliar.

 

It was probably pure luck that Jason hadn’t already inferred Tim’s motivations. Pure luck, or the public setting. Then again, carrying a weapon wasn't unusual enough to comment on at all, Tim realized. After all, Tim already knew Jason had at least one firearm on his person.

 

Tim hazarded a glance at Jason, his first real look at the man all night. Like himself, Jason was surveying the place, and when their eyes met, Tim knew they were wondering the same thing: what the hell made Fat Frog Brewing the target of four incidents of vandalism in two weeks?

 

* * *

 

 

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Jason said after they left the taproom. A few (six; Tim had counted) beers had softened the venom Jason’s threats normally held. “It’s my territory, so I call the shots. I’m _allowing_ you to help.”

 

“But what kind of shitty host doesn’t pick up the tab?” Tim muttered nonsensically. He drank far less than Jason, but still ended up sloshed and paying. Jason knocked his shoulder into Tim’s in retaliation, but it wasn't hard enough to upset his balance. It was almost friendly, in a way, like they got drinks together every Wednesday.

 

Night had fully fallen now, the sky above an off-black and starless from the smog and lights of the city. The streetlamps hadn't gone on yet, and stepping away from any door was to step into darkness. Only the filtered glow of the city leaking into the sky lit their way.

 

“I should’ve guessed you were one of those hopped up brew hipsters,” Jason said. Tim didn’t respond. He didn’t particularly care what Jason assumed about him, whether or not that guess was true or false.

 

(It was true, and likely true of Jason as well, judging from how enthusiastically he tried each of Fat Frog's offerings.)

 

“My lab partner is. He’s ‘enlightening’ me. His words,” Tim said, unsure why he was offering the information at all. He knew nothing about Jason’s personal life; why should Jason know anything of his? Even if it was just about his lab partner.

 

“You’re still in school?”

 

Tim grimaced a little bit. _L_ _ook at what you’ve invited now._ “College. Just a couple credits a week.”

 

“That’s cool,” Jason said. It was surreal to hear Jason say something so easy going and attentive as, ‘That’s cool’. Tim just shrugged, unsure what to do with the uncharacteristic interest in his life. The last time Jason displayed that kind of investment, he was out to unseat Tim as Robin, and they both suffered for it. “What are you taking?”

 

“Undergraduate stuff,” Tim said, trying to be dismissive. “It doesn’t matter, it’s just for the paper so Bruce stops getting flack from his board over hiring me.”

 

Jason scoffed harshly. “That’s fucked up.”

 

“What?” Tim snapped.

 

“It’s fucked up. Do you know how many people would kill to go to college? And here you are with a free ride and you don’t even want to go. Hell, you don’t even need to go if you're already hired,” Jason said. 

 

“Oh, fuck you. First of all, and not that I owe it to you to tell you, I pay for school myself. And secondly, I never said I don’t want to be there. You’re putting words into my mouth,” Tim spat. “You don’t know me.”

 

“You don’t know me,’” Jason mocked, pausing to pull out a pack of cigarettes. He smacked it into his hands a few times before drawing and lighting one. “You think I don’t know my own replacement?”

 

Tim ground his knuckles into his temples, sighing fiercely. Getting dressed down by Jason Todd was infuriating, but bringing up that old chestnut not an hour after Tim had _bought Jason a beer_ made Tim realize how old and tired this whole bickering thing actually was. “That makes no sense, asshole. With that logic, I’d know Damian like the back of my hand.”

 

Jason barked out a short laugh. “Or Stephanie.”

 

The corner of Tim’s mouth twitched slightly. Definitely not a smile. “She is unknowable.”

 

Jason chuckled and took a drag. “Women, am I right?”

 

Tim shrugged, which Jason seemed to find funny. Tim suddenly wished he was as drunk as Jason right now. He wanted to enjoy whatever this was, and he hated that he wanted it as much as he hated the fact that he was fighting it. His stomach squirm in that way it did when he was 13, when making friends seemed like the hardest thing in the world. In fact, 13 was the last and only time ever Tim could remember wishing he could be friends with the former Robin. Funny how things come full circle like that.

 

{[XXXXX](https://skater-boi-tim.tumblr.com/post/175311356793/a-drawing-for-my-fic-sanguine-eyes-and-the-first)}

 

Tim extended his hand and Jason’s eyes narrowed warily.

 

“Friend, or foe?” he asked.

 

“Whatever you call the guy who bums a smoke.”

 

“Foe, then,” Jason smirked and handed Tim the one in his hand. Tim knew then that he was just as sober as he needed to be, because the shock of Jason sharing his own cigarette instead of simply giving Tim his own didn’t show on his face at all. Either Jason was just drunk enough to go with his first instinct, the path of least resistance, or it was a gesture of goodwill.

 

Tim inhaled slowly, savoring the nicotine’s rush, the buzz in his bloodstream. He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes until he opened them again and Jason was staring at him with a disappointed look. “What?”

 

“I thought for sure that’d be your first smoke ever and I’d get to see you choke.”

 

“Sorry to let you down,” Tim said before taking another drag and handing the cigarette back.

 

They walked for another few blocks in silence, reaching the river. It hadn’t rained all summer, so the flow was quiet and the smell more pungent than usual.

 

“Are you really going to work this case?” Jason asked. The walk and smoke seemed to sober him up somewhat. He walked with less swagger, his eyes tired but focused.

 

“Why wouldn’t I?”

 

“Why _would_ you?” Jason said, toeing a pebble off the ledge. There was no sound of it hitting the water, just the white noise of the river and the city. 

 

“Jason,” Tim started, but he couldn’t go on. There was nothing to say that could hide all the thin, selfish reasons he wanted to investigate under Red Hood's jurisdiction. 

 

“I just want to work on the case with you,” Tim eventually said, hoping the honesty would carry weight with Jason. 

 

“You’ll have to do it my way, then. No chickening out,” Jason said with a genuine grin. 

 

And Tim, knowing full well what Jason's way entailed, smiled back.

 

“Deal.”

 


	2. Hey You

Jason always pegged Tim as the asthmatic type. A square, a buzzkill, and with a silver spoon in his mouth to boot.

 

It was so much easier to hate that version of Tim. Hating that guy was effortless, and it came without guilt. This Tim broke the rules so quietly, you hardly realized he did it. This Tim had vices and shared his cigarette with pleasure. This Tim was impossible to disregard. This Tim wanted to work a case with him.

 

Not obligated to. Not ordered to. Not in the wrong place at the time. Want, the one thing Jason endeavored never to feel around Tim.

 

Yeah, things were much easier when he hated the guy.

 

“You’re awfully quiet,” Tim said in his uncharacteristically deep voice. It used to be unsettling when Tim was a teenager, but he’d grown into it in recent years. “Hungover?”

 

“Sure,” Jason said, pretending to adjust the focus on his camera. Tim’s mask pinched suspiciously. Obviously, six beers plus 200 pounds did not make for much of a hangover, but Tim’s mask relaxed and he didn’t comment further.

 

Whatever. Let Tim think he was a lightweight.

 

It was another clear night, or as clear as Gotham ever got in the summer. A blessedly cool breeze met them from where they were camped on an adjacent building to the brewery, but nobody else was out in this heat. Even at midnight, the concrete and garbage and thick Gotham air clung to heat in a way that it never did in winter.

 

When Jason woke up that morning, Tim had already sent him a report on the brewery’s staff and background, and suggestions for their next move, and Jason, despite drunkenly insisting the night before that they do it his way, replied with a, ‘Sure, sounds great,’.

 

You know. Like an idiot.

 

Now here he was, on a rooftop on a beautiful-by-Gotham’s-standards night, sharing a bag of Takis and observing the comings and goings of Fat Frog Brewing with Red Robin.

 

Sometimes, when Jason was having a good day and his guard was down, he thought about this sort of thing. After he came back, after enough time had passed from those terrible weeks where all he could think about was revenge, grief, madness, Tim became a mystery to him. He heard things, though, about Tim's brilliance and vindictive streak. Stephanie became a real talker, sometimes, but even then, Jason couldn't reconcile his impressions of Tim. He truly didn't know the guy, but God, did he want to, and God, did he hate himself for fucking up his chance of ever doing that. 

 

Sort of made this whole arrangement feel surreal, actually.

 

“When’s last call?” Tim asked through a yawn.

 

“On this side of the tracks?” Jason said, yawning himself. “Anyone’s guess.”

 

Tim groaned and mimed banging his phone into the concrete ledge. No one had come in or out of the building for two hours, and it was already nearing one in the morning. They knew there were at least two patrons inside, perhaps more if they came before Tim and Jason started watching the place. “Alright, give me your comm.”

 

Jason’s hand moved to his ear without thinking, then stopped, remembering that suspicion was still wise when it came to Tim. “Why?”

 

“Just trust me.”

 

“No offense, but one night out doesn’t guarantee trust.”

 

Tim’s head lolled like he was rolling his eyes under the mask. “I’m going to mod it for you. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t kill for some tunes right now.”

 

Oh. So Tim really had found a way to patch other feeds into the communicators. He handed the tiny device over. It was dark enough that Jason couldn’t see what Tim did, but when he handed the comm back to him, Jason could feel a tiny protrusion on the outside that didn’t exist before. Then his phone dinged.

 

“That will download an app to your phone, and you should be able to stream whatever’s on your phone through your comm from there,” Tim said. “Radio, mp3’s, Youtube…”

 

Jason stared at the communicator in his hand, at a loss. It was frivolous, sure, but it was the kind of frivolous that would infuriate Bruce--which meant he didn’t know Tim had done it.

 

“You better not have bugged it,” Jason said, but it didn’t actually matter; Jason was already installing Tim’s application and inserting the comm back into his ear. Tim laughed, but quickly caught himself, voice dropping again.

 

“This _is_ a bug. It should switch between feeds without interruption, but let me know if it doesn’t,” Tim said. “I’ve only had one or two instances of it not working myself.”

 

“Impressive,” Jason said with as much of a mocking tone as he could manage while also being genuinely impressed. Always better with mechanical engineering than electrical, it was unlikely Jason ever would’ve been able to figure the modification out himself. “But I don’t have anything on my phone to listen to.”

 

Tim actually looked delighted by this. “Really? Well, been dying to try _this_.”

 

Oh jeez, try _what_? Tim did something on his phone that Jason couldn’t see, but then soft music that Jason didn’t recognize started to play through his comm. Tim bopped gently in time with the song.

 

“It syncs?”

 

“Yeah,” Tim said, clearly proud. “I mean, I don’t know what practical use it would have, I sort of just want to rickroll Dick, but it _works_.”

 

Jason didn’t know what rickrolling was, but it sounded suggestive. He didn’t think Dick and Jason had that sort of relationship, but then again, it seemed there was a lot he didn’t realize about Tim until lately. In any case, he certainly wasn’t going to ask. The less he knew, the better off he’d be.

 

“No names on duty,” Jason admonished, far too late. A nearly imperceptible twitch of Tim’s mouth was the only response he got before Tim suddenly sat upright and the music stopped.

 

“They're closing up,” Tim said. The last two customers, a male and a female both in their early twenties, exited with the lone employee, the bartender from yesterday. According to Tim’s research, he was Mackenzie Santos, the first half of the brother duo that founded the place. He chatted amicably with the customers while he locked up.

 

“Should we look into those two?”

 

“Could be regulars, or friends,” Jason said, purposefully not answering Tim’s question. He snapped pictures of all three just in case. “Last call is supposed to be two. I think this is the first time I’ve actually seen someone follow it.”

 

“Maybe they're trying too hard to look clean,” Tim said.

 

“Or they just are,” Jason said. “Everyone on Fat Frog's roster had clean backgrounds.”

 

And they were actually clean; not ‘I bribed someone to wipe my record’ clean, but normal, average citizen clean. Mild traffic violations, but nothing violent or larcenous or even mischievous.

 

“The break-ins could be a personal grudge,” Tim murmured, and quietly, Jason agreed. His stomach roiled thinking about Mac and Nick Santos, the founding brother of Fat Frog Brewing. It was a feeling that Jason didn't get often, and couldn’t ignore; the feeling that these were good people in bad trouble. They were trying so hard to keep their noses clean and run a good business, and that always attracted trouble. Gotham was quick to snuff out its brightest lights. Jason would know.

 

“Ready to call it a night?”

 

“Yeah,” Jason said, stretching tall and cracking his neck. It was unlikely anything would happen tonight, since all the other incidents occurred on Friday nights. They would come back tomorrow as civilians and stay after close as Red Hood and Red Robin. “See what you can find on their social media. Harassers, break ups, falling outs, family troubles…”

 

“Why do I have to do that? It’s _your_ case,” Tim stressed.

 

“I don’t know how to do Facebook or whatever,” Jason lied.

 

“Liar. You’re not that old,” Tim grumbled as he withdrew his keys. “Need a ride?”

 

Jason saw Tim ride in before they walked to the stakeout point, catching a glimpse of Tim's ride before he hid it from sight. He imagined riding on the back of Tim’s glorious Ducati, behind Tim’s glorious...

 

“Nah,” Jason said, avoiding Tim's eye. Tim shrugged, stood with a little wave, and dove off the building with a practiced panache that must’ve been learned from Dick. Jason didn’t see where he landed, but a moment later, he heard that beautiful bike roar to life.

 

As Jason walked home, his comm crackled to life and the music began again. He didn’t realize he was smiling until he was already a block away from home.

 

* * *

 

 

Jason was restless when he got home, in the way that usually was preceded by a violent, adrenaline rushing patrol. He tried to believe it was the case muddling his mind, and not adrenaline of a different kind.

 

That night, he dreamed of the rumble of motorcycles and Tim’s flushed face, guarded even when he was tipsy, spitting, “You don’t know me,” and coiling around Jason in a haze of cigarette smoke. Tim’s hands, his actual, bare, ungloved hands reaching out to help, to offer friendship. Tim’s deep and resonant voice in his ear.

 

Jason was startled out of the dream by an intense staccato vibration rattling across his nightstand. He scrabbled for the phone, eyes still squeezed shut as the dream faded away, and answered it clumsily.

 

“What?” he rasped, not bothering to look at the I.D. Anybody who dared call this early didn’t dignify a name.

 

“Mackenzie Santos is dead.”

 

Jason shot upright, partially impeded by the tangle of sheets and his own sweat. “When?”

 

“This morning. In his apartment.”

 

“Foul play?” Jason yawned as he scrubbed at his eyes.

 

“Unclear. His girlfriend woke to find him unresponsive and he was already dead when the paramedics arrived,” Tim said. His voice was steady, but strained. Jason checked his phone; it was only eight in the morning. How Tim knew already, Jason could only wonder. Didn't he sleep? They only left the stakeout a few hours ago. “What do you want to do?”

 

Jason balked, laying back into his pillow. “Can you access the autopsy records? The police reports?” It was a struggle to make his tongue work, the words coming out soft and stumbling.

 

“As soon as they’re submitted,” Tim said. “It’s only been an hour. I’ll remain on standby.”

 

“Good,” Jason said, untangling himself from the sheets and rising. “Er, as long as you don’t have anything better to do?”

 

“Just homework and Netflix.”

 

Jason nodded, despite Tim not being able to see him. He was still fuzzy from sleep, with no transition between dreaming and the mission. He stretched, his mind waking up as his body did. “Alright. Contact me when you have something.”

 

“And you?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“What will you do?”

 

“Oh,” Jason said. Clearly not awake enough. He wondered if Tim was trusting his judgement, or just wanted to be in the know. Perhaps both; Tim didn’t seem to trust many people, despite having a hand in everything. “Recon.”

 

“Roger. Good luck,” Tim said and then the call ended before Jason could respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, thanks for reading and sorry for the wait! i'm trying to keep under two weeks between chapters, it's the best i can do. curse the day job T___T please comment & review for that is the unicorn blood that keeps me going (but at what cost????)


	3. Wake Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wha-wha-what???? another chapter so soon? well, this one came easy. please note the new tags, this chapter gets a bit hairy. you might also notice i capped the chapters off at 10, but i really don't know if it'll end up that way. i'm thinking of it as a goal, so it'll be at least ten. and yes, the pov will alternate each chapter! whatever! i'm indulging myself with this fic! enjoy!!

It was just before six when Tim’s laptop sounded its alarm. He had it running through the police scanners, programmed to notify him when certain keywords or frequencies were used. Some were general, some were case specific, but it usually didn’t pay off. For one, voice recognition software wasn’t perfect, and for another, it takes a good alarm to wake Tim. Luckily for them all, Tim was having a restless night.

 

Now he sat bleary eyed before his monitor, waiting for a lead. It’d be another day or two before an autopsy was released, but the police report might give them an idea of how Mac Santos died.

 

Tim wondered what kind of reconnaissance Jason was doing at this moment. He probably went back to the brewery; their Twitter already had announced that they would be closed for the weekend, meaning Jason would have plenty of alone time to snoop. Tim was almost jealous, but Jason probably didn’t have Cinnamon Toast Crunch right now.

 

“Mmm,” Tim hummed after slurping up the last dregs of cinnamon flavored milk. He would kill for some coffee right now, having just used the last of his Folger’s before their stakeout the night before, but sugar would do.

 

Tim had lab reports to write up for Analytical Chem, essays to write for American Lit, and seven chapters to read for his business class. The latest season of _Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt_ was burning a hole in his Netflix account (alright, Dick’s Netflix account, but they were all leeching off of somebody), and the photos from last night--Mac Santos’ last night on this earth--still needed to be analyzed.

 

Instead, Tim was going through the Instagrams and Facebooks of the employees for a second time, hoping for a clue and to forget Jason’s cute, raspy, sleepy slur.

 

Wait, cute?

 

Tim massaged at his temples roughly. He really could use some caffeine.

 

_‘Mac was the kindest and most passionate man you could ever meet. He took a chance on his dream and on all of us, and Fat Frog Brewing will never be the same without him. None of us will. Cheers, Mackenzie, rest in peace.’_

 

_‘Without my brother, I was just a dumb kid brewing in our garage. He was always a leader, and worked so hard to make all the good in our lives possible. Thanks everyone for your kind words. Pour one out for Mac today and always. I love you big bro. RIP’_

 

_‘We named our brewery Fat Frog for this thing Mac always said--eat that frog. Get the worst of the work over with, so you can get to the good stuff. Mac was never afraid of anything, not hard work, not opening Gotham’s first brewery, nothing. He wanted to share his passion, and I hope he’s looking down on us happy to know his gift for brewing will continue to be shared. We will open again after the weekend and we hope to see many of you this Monday to celebrate Mac’s life. R.I.P., Brewmaster Mac.’_

 

The brewery’s Facebook page and the pages of everyone involved were rushed with an outpouring of love and grief. After all the tragedies Tim had seen in his lifetime, little surprised him anymore, but this small pocket of Gotham rallying together for Mackenzie Santos was a refreshing sight. Who knew Gotham could be so touched by one man?

 

Hell, he touched Tim. He brewed Red Robin a beer, and now he’s dead. And someone was targeting him, that was clear now.

 

Tim sniffed and clicked out of his browser. No more reading grief stricken Facebook statuses. It was time to get to work.

 

Halfway through identifying the couple Mac spent his last night with, a message from Jason came through.

 

_‘Timbo--_

 

_Red Robin wasn’t the only cape they made a beer for. Batman, Batgirl, Superman, Robin, Nightwing, and Wonder Woman have all been specials in the last six months. From all these brewing notes in here, it looks like Green Arrow, Wonder Woman, Aquaman, and yours truly were planned for future special beers as well. It could be nothing, or it could’ve attracted the wrong attention. Nothing else of note here._

 

_\--Jay’_

 

A disbelieving chuckle escaped Tim’s lips at the nicknames. Had Jason snuck a little something-something from the brewery? Timbo. That was new. And how many people really called Jason ‘Jay’ other than Dick? Theoretically, Tim knew Jason had other friends in Kori and Roy and even Stephanie, and probably others Tim wasn’t privy to, and potentially, he was on a familiar nickname basis with _those_ people, but Tim?

 

Granted, Timbo was marginally better than ‘Replacement’, but if Tim warranted such familiarity, that was news to him.

 

Or _was_ it? The niggling thought wormed its way between Tim’s ears and made itself comfortable without Tim’s permission. Jason didn’t protest that much at Tim insinuating himself into his jurisdiction. He let Tim modify his communicator. They shared music and beer and a cigarette, and tentatively, Tim had to admit they were working well together.

 

Fuck, were he and Jason friends now?

 

“I don’t even like the guy,” Tim muttered, returning to his facial recognition software. _Liar!_

 

The laptop pinged, returning identities for the couple from last night, and, nearly on autopilot, Tim ran their background checks.

 

Colleen and Brett Baker. Clean, and clean. A quick check of their Facebooks showed they were friends of Mac Santos, not just customers. Nothing to implicate them. Tim sighed and sank back into his chair. No leads there, then, and it could be days before an autopsy report came through. Unless the police report told them something they didn’t know, they were stuck for the moment.

 

He messaged Jason to tell him as much before turning to his schoolwork, and it was hours before he got a response from Jason.

 

_‘Join me on patrol tonight. 9:30, 34th Ave. and Depot St.’_

 

* * *

 

Tim found Jason on the fire escape of the condemned building on the corner, fiddling on his phone with a cigarette hanging between his lips. Tim started to scale what was left of the iron ladders and platforms.

 

_‘NEVER GONNA GIVE YOU UP--’_

 

“What the--” Tim’s grip slipped as Rick Astley burst through his communicator at full volume, and Jason’s head popped over the edge as he dangled from the railing. He was grinning widely down at him. “Asshole!”

 

“And I couldn’t have done it without you,” Jason said, extending his hand. Tim wasn’t pouting--he wasn’t--and ignored the help, hoisting himself over in a smooth pull up. He dusted the crumbling rust off his gloves before giving Jason a hard shove. It was like shoving into a brick wall; Jason was bigger than Kon and just as solid. “Aw, don’t be mad, Red.”

 

“I’m not,” Tim said. He was. He came up with the damn idea, he should’ve been the first to do it. Stupid Jason. He pulled out his phone to override the song, tuning instead into a local music station. When he looked up, Jason was gone, his cigarette still smoldering on the grate. Tim whipped around, spotting Jason’s boot flashing around a corner.

 

Tim was in pursuit within an instant, chasing Jason down and alley and up another fire escape, across multiple roofs--fuck, Jason was fast for a big guy--down another fire escape, weaving through alleyways--seriously, how was he so fast?--up some scaffolding, and at last, on a sprint across a warehouse roof, Tim finally caught up and leaped on Jason, tackling him to the ground and skidding to a stop just before the edge of the roof.

 

“Took you...long enough,” Jason panted. Sweat curled the hair at his forehead and his body was remarkably warm underneath his own. Tim gripped his shoulders and slammed him back into the pavement before he could do anything stupid, like think about how good Jason felt panting underneath him. Goddammit.

 

“If this is what you call patrol,” Tim said, all of his training going into not sounding like he was winded, “Then it’s no wonder Crime Alley is a fucking pit.”

 

“You little shit,” Jason laughed, shoving Tim off and rubbing the back of his head, then checking his hand for blood. Tim almost felt guilty for a second, until Jason flashed him a grin. “That’s the Robin I like to see.”

 

Tim’s stomach flipped, recalling the last time Jason said that. Jason was the one slamming his head into the ground that time. There was no way it was a coincidence; Jason was trying to rile him up, and it was working, just not in the way Jason probably intended. He released his bo staff, preferring to go on the offense than let Jason know how flustered Tim really was.

 

“Easy, Red, I didn’t lead you on a goose chase for nothin’,” Jason said, beckoning Tim to the ledge. Tim didn’t sheath his staff, but slinked up to the edge, following Jason’s eye line.

 

“Perry Delgado,” Jason said. “Small time drug runner, usually a good informant. Until he started funneling designer drugs into the high schools.”

 

Delgado was a stocky man with glasses and lean in his gait, likely an old leg injury. He glanced around furtively, like a hunted possum, until another man approached with a package under one arm. They slinked out of the light, out of sight for anyone without specialized night vision in their masks. “There’s no point turning him in, he’s got half the cops in Gotham feeding out of his hand.”

 

“So?” Tim said. “What’s the tactic?”

 

“Scare tactics,” Jason said, withdrawing his pistols. Tim arched a brow, then nodded. Jason looked surprised for a moment.

 

“What? I did say we could do things your way,” Tim said.

 

“Music to my ears, Timbo,” Jason said before climbing down the fire escape. Before he could see how the nickname made Tim's cheeks redden.

 

The supplier was leaving as Jason and Tim approached, and Jason motioned for Tim to follow the man. Tim did regrettably, wondering what Jason’s scare tactics entailed these days.

 

Having made his drop, the supplier was caught unawares as Tim’s staff struck him across the temples. He dropped like a stone.

 

“Sucker,” Tim mumbled, jumping a little when Jason chuckled in his ear. Oops, that’s right. Their comms were still linked. Tim bound and searched the supplier and confiscated anything pertinent to Jason’s investigation; burner phone, identification, even more drugs. Looked like MDMA to Tim, but he’d be a fool to think it was pure. Jason had a vendetta against these guys, and that meant these goods would be anything but ordinary.

 

Tim raced back to where he left Jason and followed the sounds of pleading to a nearby alley.

 

“No, please, I didn’t do nothin’ this time--”

 

“Marcella Cain.” _Bang._ Delgado was cowering on the ground. Jason had shot the ground near his face.

 

“Angel Phillips.” _Bang._ Delgado yelped, the bullet an inch from his hand.

 

“Karl Walsh.” _Bang-bang._ Jason’s voice burned with rage, but his shoulders were as relaxed as ever.

 

“Puh-puh-please,” Delgado sobbed. Tim leaned against the wall, watching Jason closely. It was...interesting. Seeing him work.

 

“Three kids are dead because of you, Perry,” Jason growled slowly. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t destroy your other leg.”

 

Perry Delgado just continued to sob. “I duh-don’t make ‘em, I just sell ‘em!”

 

“Wrong answer,” Jason said, raising the gun again and cocking it.

 

“No, no, no!” Delgado screamed. “I’ll give ya--I’ll give up--Stokes! Troy Stokes!”

 

“Stokes got collared last week. Try again.”

 

Jason was still while Delgado whimpered. Tim was moderately impressed that Jason allowed him the full 20 seconds it took for another answer to come.

 

“Sammy Garrett. He’s the one ya want, not me,” Geldago sobbed. “I didn’t mess with the E, he did.”

 

“That’s true,” Jason said, crouching down to Delgado’s level. His eyes widened in terror as Jason pressed the glock to his knee. Delgado's eyes flashed towards Tim, and Tim remained impassive. “But Sammy doesn’t distribute to kids, does he?”

 

Delgado was silent; it was the wrong response. Jason jerked the gun and Delgado screamed.

 

“Does he?” Jason roared.

 

“No,” Delgado sobbed. “Puh-please, Mr. Hood, I’ll never sell to kids again, I promise, I promise!”

 

Without removing the gun from his knee, Jason ripped open Delgado’s jacket and took the package of cash. “You’re lucky I’m trying to impress my partner, here. You can keep the lousy leg.”

 

He pistol whipped Delgado. From the sound, Tim judged that it broke his nose, and it almost detracted from what Jason just said. _Impress_ him?

 

Jason turned on his heel and stalked out of the alley, leaving Delgado bleeding and blubbering on the pavement. Tim followed closely, heart racing. Hell, Jason might be a bit rough, but it was effective.

 

“Where’s the other one?” Only then did Tim notice Jason was shaking.

 

“Around the corner. Knocked out and restrained. I already searched him.”

 

“Good. Leave him.” He holstered the gun, pace slowing. “We’re done for tonight.”

 

Tim still needed to stay brisk to keep up with Jason’s strides. “What're the drugs laced with?”

 

“I don’t know,” Jason growled bitterly, shouldering open the door to the condemned building that housed their bikes. While Jason peeled off his mask (seriously, his ‘suit’ of jeans and a leather jacket was doing his identity no favors, but to each their own), Tim pulled the evidence from his belt and showed Jason the baggie of pills.

 

“Want me to find out?”

 

Jason looked at Tim, a surprising level of weariness in his eyes. “Would you?”

 

“Sure,” Tim said, pocketing the baggie again but handing over the rest. “Got a lab?”

 

“Not really,” Jason said.

 

“That’s cool. Come to mine, then,” Tim said, the invitation coming unbidden from his mouth. “Night’s still young enough to get some answers.”

 

Jason looked as taken aback by the offer as Tim felt giving it, but then his brow relaxed. “Lead the way, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you bet your butt jason googles his memes!!!!
> 
> thanks for reading, please comment/review! i love hearing your thoughts! you guys keep me young!


	4. Say It Ain't So

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again! i feel like this chapter is a little different, i'm trying to focus more on these two and less on their caseload haha. 
> 
> warning for a suicide/overdose mention of an auxiliary character. see end notes if you want to know exactly what that entails before you read. 
> 
> also hey, if you really wanna set the ~~mood~~ for this chapter, search 24/7 Chill & Lofi Hip Hop Radio on youtube and any of those streams will hook you up, enjoy <3

That magic hour between midnight and one was Jason’s favorite time to travel through the city. It was long after everyone had left the shows and the restaurants, and before the bars let out; the traffic was sparse and the patrol cars were nonexistent. He had to take the corners hard and fast to keep up with Tim. He was more practiced than Jason had anticipated, and rode his bike with reckless precision.

 

Just beyond the limits of Crime Alley, Tim turned down a poorly lit side street and came to a stop. He slipped into a bus vestibule, thrusting a hand out the door behind him and holding up a ‘one minute' finger.

 

When he came out, he was wearing jeans and a black athletic jacket, carrying a bag that most likely held his suit. Jason personally never bothered, partially because his costume was less costume and more civilian, and partially because he didn’t mind moving every few weeks. But of course, Tim would want to change before approaching his apartment. It was almost nice to have one assumption about Tim confirmed; once a paranoid freak, always a paranoid freak, it would seem.

 

“I’m just a block up,” Tim said, mounting his bike again. Fuck, was his ass always that pert? After seeing someone almost exclusively in tights, jeans were almost obscene in contrast. Tim threw Jason a look over his shoulder and revved his bike. “You coming?”

 

“Like I could stay away,” Jason mumbled to himself once they’d taken off.

 

Tim lived in a high rise overlooking the bridge, and his apartment looked like any other young adult’s, surprisingly. The furniture was mismatched like it’d been picked up when cheap or abandoned, textbooks lay strewn across the counter with several half empty mugs. A box of Triscuits balanced on top of the TV along with stacks of Playstation games and DVD’s, and broken skateboards were lined up against one wall. It was all surprisingly very lived in and down to earth. Was it a carefully crafted civilian persona, or was this the real Tim Drake?

 

“Sorry for the mess. Make yourself at home, help yourself to the fridge,” Tim said as he dumped his bag by the door and toed off his shoes. “There’s beer, and uh...I think sandwich things. Don’t--” Tim pointed sharply, “--eat the takeout, it’s old. There’s stuff under the sink to clean your gun. Do you want a change of clothes?”

 

Jason nodded dumbly, unsure if he’d ever hear Tim sound so...human. Civilian. Tim just let a dangerous, dangerous man into his home, and here he was making _Jason_ nervous with how normal he was being. His heart stuttered as Tim looked him up and down for a moment.

 

“I might have things that’ll fit,” Tim said before turning on his heel and going into the bedroom. While Jason made a sandwich for them each with some turkey that looked barely passable and the last of Tim’s cheddar, music came through his communicator again.

 

He had to look up the songs Tim played before, but fortunately, this tune was familiar to Jason.

 

_I've got one wish for this music to be an uplift, and I need an uplift to deal…_

 

“As I wander around, town to town…” Jason sang along softly as he cracked open a beer. It shouldn’t be surprising that Tim listened to 311; 90’s kid, skateboarder, frenetic one moment and relaxed the next. It was practically pleasant how predictable it was, actually.

 

“Pulls me through, ha-ah-ah,” Tim sang as he walked in, grabbing the beer from Jason’s hand and handing him a tee shirt and sweatpants instead. “The pants might be short.”

 

“Ok,” Jason said, watching Tim’s throat bob as he took a long sip out of the beer.

 

Jason’s head swam a little bit as he changed in Tim’s bathroom, wondering how this moment came to be, exactly. He’d almost hoped that Tim would get scared off after the patrol, call it quits, and Jason would never have to spend another day being caught between Tim's gravitational pull and his own self control. 

 

Unfortunately for Jason, Tim seemed utterly unspookable. Was it morbid curiosity? An ulterior motive, getting the inside scoop on Jason and his methodology? Was Tim an adrenaline junkie? A sucker for a bad boy?

 

Jason winced at himself and shook his head. No, that was a bad train of thought to follow, yet all of those conclusions seemed silly compared to the one staring him in the face: they got along, and liked it. They were becoming friends, and Jason's already unwelcome crush was on track to becoming downright tragic.

  

When he came back into the kitchen, feeling all too vulnerable in sweatpants and a tee shirt, 311 had shifted to some soft, lyricless hip hop and Tim was typing into his computer with one hand and eating with the other. He raised the sandwich as Jason sat at the table beside him.

 

“Thanks, this is great. Where’d you find mustard?”

 

“Chinese hot mustard packets with the takeout,” Jason said.

 

“Genius,” Tim murmured, finishing the last bite. “Look, the reports are up.”

 

Jeez, how long was Jason in there? It couldn’t have been more than a minute or two, and yet Tim had finished his entire sandwich and started on the case. _Workaholic._ Didn't he hear that one from Dick? Always the big brother.

 

“And?” Jason said, digging in. The beer was good, but beer was always good after a patrol.

 

“Dunno,” Tim said, dusting crumbs off of his fingers and turning the laptop towards Jason. “Take a look. I’ll be in the lab.”

 

Tim was gone before Jason could ask him where the lab was, or how to get in, but he had a feeling Tim was testing him. Or teasing him, unless there was no difference in the former Robin’s eyes.

 

Jason scanned the reports while he ate; the paramedics arrived at 5:45 in the morning and Mac Santos was dead on arrival. The girlfriend is a nurse and was just getting ready for her shift when she realized something was wrong. She wasn’t ruled out as a suspect until the medical examiner’s own ruling came through: overdose by benzodiazepines.

 

“Oh, buddy,” Jason muttered. It made sense. He was clearly being targeted, and either went too far in coping with the stress, or was looking for a way out. Maybe he was being blackmailed? But why? What about Mac Santos and his brewery made the stakes so high?

 

The reports didn’t reveal much else, written with the usual lack of specificity and care that characterized Gotham P.D. For one, the death wasn't even categorized as a suicide or accidental, though Jason didn't think there was much ambiguity there, judging from the amount of drugs in Santos' system. Jason sighed and started to put away the food, pulling another two beers out. He paused before the fridge, noticing for the first time that it was plastered in photos.

 

Tim at 13 or 14 with Superboy and Impulse, cheesing at the camera. Lots of candid shots of Stephanie over the years, selfies of her and Tim looking shy and in love and impossibly young. There were a few tabloid articles featuring Bruce or Dick that Jason can only assume were up there because they were hilarious. Novelty magnets, post it notes of grocery lists and phone numbers, doodles by an indeterminate artist...it was a tiny glimpse into his life.

 

Jason pulled the comm from his ear and listened intently, but the apartment was silent; it was likely that Tim’s lab or lair or whatever he called it (the Red Robin Cave?) was on a different floor entirely. He was never going to get a better chance to snoop. Hell, he’s got to find the lab anyway, right?

 

He kept his comm out just in case the music drowned out incoming footsteps. The textbooks on the counter revealed a fairly standard class load, but Jason flipped through a notebook anyway. Tim’s writing was tiny and uniform; he doodled a lot. A DSLR camera hung from a hook. It still had a memory card in it, so Jason powered it up and flipped through the first 20 photos or so. For the most part, they were candid portraits of Stephanie and Dick. It looked like they were in a bar, the lighting wild, but the focus perfect. Tim captured them beautifully; then again, neither Steph nor Dick need much help in that department.

 

Jason moved on through the living room, the patterns on Tim’s old skateboards giving him pause. Many of them were simply red with black grip tape, remnants of the yellow Robin symbol lost in the shards of wood. Evidently, Robin skateboarded before he got the Ducati. The image was so...fun. It spoke of simpler times.

 

Maybe it was cheating to get to know Tim in this way, but when did they ever play fair, anyway? Jason knew with almost certainty that if the roles were reversed, Tim would be playing Nancy Drew, too. Still, Jason couldn’t bring himself to enter Tim’s bedroom. Some lines shouldn’t be crossed, and some rooms Jason would rather keep out of his imagination.

 

There was still no sound throughout the apartment, save for the melodic beats coming through his communicator, so Jason made one last stop at the bathroom. Tim had an extensive first aid kit, and there was a drop of blood on the counter that had escaped Jason’s notice before. Tim probably had a recent injury. A few different kinds of painkillers lined the cabinet, nothing stronger than Tylenol. No medications, though Tim had an array of immune system supplements and vitamins.

 

Jason put the communicator back in his ear, deciding that was enough nosiness for one night. While he was cleaning his gun in the kitchen sink (empty; Tim must not cook a lot), the music feed was interrupted.

 

“Come to the lab,” Tim said. “I’ve finished the analysis.”

 

“Where’s the lab?” Jason asked, drying his gun.

 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Tim said, his voice coy. Jason scoffed.

 

“What’s the record for someone finding your lab?”

 

“I’ll let you know if you beat it.”

 

Alright, challenge accepted. There was a desk in the living room. Jason tried there first, feeling for a switch or pull, but a good shove proved the desk wasn’t even anchored to the floor. Damn. Jason tried all the books in the shelf, but none of those did anything, either. He would’ve loved a Scooby Doo style passageway, but he supposed that wasn’t Tim’s style.

 

“Quit beating up my furniture and hurry up.”

 

Alright, what was Tim’s style? Something sleek, something you couldn’t access by accident. Jason strode towards the front hall closet and shoved the coats and jackets aside. There; a seam in the wall. Jason ran his fingers along it, feeling for a change in the plaster. The latch was at the bottom, disguised in the baseboard. The wall slid aside and Jason stepped into what appeared to be an elevator. There were only two levels; ground and roof. How convenient, and very Tim.

 

“Well?”

 

“Not bad. Only Bart has you beat,” Tim said. “But to be fair, he’s sort of got us all beat, so.”

 

The elevator came to a stop about a story underground, by Jason’s estimation. “Bart?”

 

“Kid Flash,” Tim said, and Jason followed his voice around a corner to his lab setup. It was partitioned off from the rest of the office.

 

“What’d you find?”

 

Tim scrubbed at his face and turned off the harsh focus bulb above him. “Nothing, technically. There’s nothing but MDMA in these pills, but…”

 

He handed the bag of candy colored pills to Jason, looking troubled. “But?”

 

“But they’re an exceptionally potent dose. If you’re small or mixing it with alcohol or haven’t eaten that day, it would be very easy to overdose. And if you’re young and don’t know any better…”

 

“You take another because you thought the first pill didn’t work and you die.” Jason’s stomach roiled and he took a seat, fists clenched. “It may as well be designed to kill teenagers.”

 

Sammy Garrett was as good as dead. A tremble ran through Jason’s body and he slammed his fist onto the table before sinking his head into his hands. “God _damn_ it!”

 

“I’m sorry, Jay,” Tim said softly after a long pause. Jason glanced up, and Tim looked so world weary, and underneath it, a simmer that told Jason he shared his disgust and rage. He was only better at hiding it. And just like that, the wrath started to fade into determination as Jason realized that he felt validated. Tim made him feel validated.

 

“Ain’t no sorry,” Jason said with a sigh. “Thanks for doing this.”

 

“Anytime,” Tim said, and the thing was, Jason believed him now. With a furrowed brow, Jason went to the sink and turned on the garbage disposal, intent on pouring the pills down, then paused. It was going to take a miracle to get close to Sammy Garrett, and the pills might help. He slowly pocketed them, and let the noise of the disposal mask the swarm of feeling inside him. He didn’t know what was stronger, the urge to hunt down Sammy Garrett right this minute and make him pay, or the warmth in his chest from Tim being so damn nice, from calling him ‘Jay’ like Jason never hunted him down once upon a time. The combination was making him sick, and he didn’t realize he was just standing there with the disposal running for way too long until Tim appeared behind him to turn it off.

 

“Come on,” he said. “Enough work for tonight.”

 

Something had shifted. Jason felt dazed as he and Tim ascended back into his apartment, the kind of emotional exhaustion that hit like clockwork, when one did what they do.

 

“Why are you doing this?” Jason asked when the elevator came to a stop. Tim glanced up at him--it was so apparent, standing beside each other like this, that Tim was at least a foot shorter than he was. He was so formidable that his size came as a second thought.

 

“The labwork?”

 

“All of this.”

 

Tim looked away, foot tapping. Even Jason could see he was nervous, but then it melted away as Tim’s shoulders relaxed and he shoved his way through the closet, throwing a smile over his shoulder. “Play Fortnite with me and I’ll tell you.”

 

“What?” Jason said, stumbling out of the closet after him. “Why can’t you just tell me? What’s Fortnite?”

 

“Well,” Tim said, detouring through the kitchen and coming back with two more beers. He gave one to Jason before collapsing onto the couch. “I’d like to be drunker before we have that conversation. And to answer your second question?”

 

He handed Jason a controller. “How about you find out for yourself?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow tim's music taste is the same as mine, its almost like im.....projecting......also for the record the beer theyre drinking is oskar blues throwback ipa, its a really nice beer and one of my go to's. it was just a detail that didn't really fit into the story haha. 'hey you' is the 311 song.
> 
> re: the warning: mac santos, the brewery owner, dies either accidentally or intentionally of a benzo overdose. its not described in detail, but mentioned in the police/medical reports. by the way guys, if theres anything you think i should tag or add a chapter warning for, please let me know. i'm not sure if i need any warnings for jason's drug case or not. 
> 
> anyhow, this chapter is a bit longer because it might take me longer than two weeks to update again. i just got a new drawing tablet and i'm just dying to add some illustrations to this fic!! i'll be taking some time now to do a draw each for old chapters so that'll be some catch up, and then going forward it'll be more or less the same time between updates again. heckie, i'm even gonna try to get on a posting schedule.
> 
> as always, please comment, i would love to hear your thoughts and reactions!! Thanks for reading!


	5. Last Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh em goodness, these last few weeks have been crazy. i know i promised some illustrations, but then my partner surprised me with a trip to tennessee and i could not justify bringing my tablet with, or finish this new chapter before we had to leave. 
> 
> so another long chapter here, and more pictures yet to come! i did have time for one illustration for that first chapter, though! which you can click back to chapter 1 and check out, or just reblog it from here: https://skater-boi-tim.tumblr.com/post/175311356793/a-drawing-for-my-fic-sanguine-eyes-and-the-first
> 
> thank you for waiting, so so sorry, enjoy!

Despite Jason’s protests, Tim threw Jason into the fray without telling him how to play, preferring to watch Jason struggle with Fortnite's mechanics for a while. It’s what he expected; what he wanted was to give Jason a harmless distraction. It turned out that Jason picked the game up more quickly than Tim thought he could.

 

“We got action, we got action,” Tim said urgently, hitting Jason on the back.

 

“I got it,” Jason laughed, shoving him back and taking out the incoming opponent. “Is that a chest?”

 

“Yeah, it always makes that sound, it should be in that cabin,” Tim said, crushing his can and rising with some effort. He wasn’t drunk yet, just tipsy enough to feel heavy limbed and in good cheer. “Want another?”

 

“Actually, I think you’re out, dude,” Jason said, leaning into the controller as he tried to avoid fire. He dropped the controller onto the cushion in a false rage when he was taken out.

 

Shit, Jason was right, but if Tim were also right, then he had a bottle of tequila right...there. Yes. “What’d you get?”

 

“Ninth,” Jason said, making grabby hands at the bottle. Tim chuckled and handed it over. “Your turn.”

 

“No,” Tim moaned, putting his feet up onto the coffee table. “I don’t have the dexterity anymore.”

 

“No salt or lime?” Jason asked, unscrewing the top. Tim shook his head, taking the controller and exiting the game. He pulled up Hulu instead. “Crude. Cheers, then.”

 

“Cheers,” Tim said, trading the controller for the bottle. Jason was smiling, nose scrunching occasionally. He did that at the bar, too; a tipsy quirk. He didn’t smile like that before, though. Happiness was such a good look on Jason.

 

“I’ll answer your question now,” Tim decided, and reveled in the way it snapped Jason to attention. “Though there’s not really any one good reason.”

 

“Go on, then,” Jason said, drawing one knee in, attentive. The persona Tim had imagined around Jason, of the motorcycle riding, leather wearing, scum killing vigilante was quickly falling apart, or maybe just rounding out, reminding Tim that Jason wasn’t much older than himself, that they all created fronts and bad habits to get the job done.

 

Tim was quiet for a long beat, trying to sort out his thoughts, wondering where to start. Where the truth started, and what it was now.

 

“Come on…” Jason said, taking a swig and licking the tequila from his lips. (Wow, his lower lip was plush.) “You gotta give me something.”

 

Or everything.

 

“There’s really no big reason. I just want to work with you,” Tim said. That’s right, keep it simple, surface.

 

“Because…?” Jason prompted.

 

“Because I think Gotham benefits from someone like you. And you could benefit from someone like me.”

 

“Even though I tried to kill you?”

 

“Twice?” Tim added with a smirk.

 

“Who’s counting?”

 

Tim chuckled and took a pull from the bottle.

 

“Everyone’s had a go at this, so you’re not exactly special.”

 

Jason raised a single brow and look to the T.V., shuffling through the movies like he was feigning disinterest. “Everyone?”

 

“Sure. You know Superboy broke my arm once?”

 

“Maybe you just have shit taste in friends,” Jason said. There was an edge to his voice, a judgement.  

 

“I really don’t,” Tim said. “We’re not civilians. We can’t hold every weak moment of sickness or insanity against each other.”

 

“Aw, baby,” Jason purred, and it made Tim’s heart drop into his stomach. His gravelly baritone, his slur, _baby_. And still, that confrontational edge, like he was testing Tim for weak spots. “You saying you forgive me?”

 

Tim shrugged and avoided Jason’s gaze, his easy smile and scrunchy nose. Jason leaned in to match Tim’s posture, trying to catch Tim’s eye, and Tim couldn’t avoid him. He just couldn’t; he didn’t want to. He locked eyes, their faces a foot apart, too close. Jason had freckles, Tim noted, they were just muted under the tanned skin and age.

 

Yes, Tim forgave him. It only just occurred to Tim now that maybe Jason would like to know that.

 

“I can hold it against you for another few years, if you’d like,” Tim said, a poor attempt at keeping things cool.

 

“Hell no,” Jason said, settling on Cool Runnings. Tim could barely hide his laugh, but it didn’t matter, because what came next cut him off short. “I kind of like having a sidekick.”

 

The playful slap landed square across one beautiful cheekbone, and Jason just laughed bawdily, catching Tim’s hand in his as he drew away. He squeezed it hard, making Tim wince momentarily.

 

“Partners,” Tim dared, tugging back, but not breaking the grip. Jason yanked, stretching Tim over the couch towards him, and his grin was unbearable. It made Tim’s blood rush hot, it made him want to kiss him.

 

 _Kiss_ him.

 

“Fine. Partners,” Jason agreed, releasing and looking like the cat who got the cream. He fumbled at one of the abandoned mugs on the coffee table, seemed to decide it was clean enough, and poured a shot. He took the mug for himself and handed the bottle to Tim before raising the mug. “Heretofore, we were Red Hood and Red Robin, enemies at odds, but from this day forth we shall be as one Team Red, facing the odds together and slowly walking away from explosions because it’s cooler. Amen.”

 

“Amen,” Tim chuckled, and drank. He coughed as it went down, slapping a hand onto his thigh repeatedly until the burn, and, blessedly, any more thoughts of kissing dissipated.

 

“Okay?”

 

“Fuck. Yeah,” Tim gasped, scrubbing at his stinging nose. “That’s it for me, I guess.”

 

“I’ll say,” Jason laughed. “Wanna go up for a smoke?”

 

Tim stared at him blankly, wondering where up was, before realizing Jason meant the roof.

 

“Or maybe just some air,” Jason said wryly. Tim gave a sarcastic ha-ha and followed Jason to the elevator, smiling to himself when Jason nearly tipped over grabbing the latch. He grabbed his board on the way and stumbled into the elevator. He had to sober up and burn off this thrumming energy that Jason had inspired in him.

 

He skated clumsily along the rails and box he had set up there, intensely aware of Jason’s eyes on him as he smoked. But this was why he loved skating; it was impossible to feel self conscious when he was doing it. Skating was pure, raw fun. It kept him humble, it kept him brave. Even falling was fun. Especially when he was drunk.

 

“Oops,” Tim laughed as his board shot out from under him as he fudged his landing. It skidded all the way across the roof, and he sat on his ass, watching it go and deciding if it was worth fetching.

 

“Doesn’t this piss off the neighbors?” Jason called from his perch.

 

“Don’t have any,” Tim replied. And he never would; he owned the building.

 

“Aren’t you too old to ride a skateboard?”

 

Tim threw his middle finger behind him, making Jason cackle. Tim launched himself up and ran to retrieve his board, skating back with a lazy push.

 

“Tony Hawk still skates.”

 

“Who the hell is Tony Hawk?” Jason deadpanned, handing Tim his cigarette. There it was again, the intimacy of a shared vice, and Tim couldn’t place why it made his blood thrum so much.

 

“You for real?” Tim asked, taking a drag. “He’s like, the most recognizable skater ever.”

 

“Of course I know who Tony Hawk is, dingbat,” Jason said, raising a boot and toeing at Tim’s chest to send him back a couple feet. Tim dropped the cigarette as his arms windmilled to keep him upright on the board; the exercise and nicotine had done some to sober him up, but not enough for complex coordination, apparently. Still, he didn’t fall again, though he did dismount and tuck the board under his arm.

 

The ride down was as silent as the ride up. Tim didn’t mean to fall asleep on the couch while they finished the movie, but when he woke up, Jason was gone.

 

He found all of his mugs in the sink, washed and drying. He couldn’t remember doing it, but he certainly wasn’t that drunk last night, which left only the possibility that Jason washed up before slipping out. Tim’s chest felt too tight for all of a minute before he started to put the clean mugs away, smiling to himself all the while.

 

* * *

 

It happened entirely by accident. They had hung around the brewery all Monday for their reopening memorial for Mac Santos, hoping someone would catch their eye as a potential suspect, but no one seemed overly invested or insincere. Jason would keep an eye on the area during his patrols, and the drug case was entirely Jason's, so for the most part, their field work together was done until they found another lead or until there was another incident. It was the kind of situation that drove Tim to insanity, feeling useless and responsible all at once. Never mind the fact that he found himself trying and failing to keep Jason Todd out of his mind.

 

So when Tim broke up his second bar fight of the night, he almost didn’t register what he overheard when the dust began to settle. He almost dismissed it. Santos wasn’t an uncommon name, after all.

 

“No one’s traced Santos’ death back to us, calm down.”

 

The hiss came from the far end of the bar, and it was lucky, really, that Tim happened to hang around for a breather after the cops picked up the brawlers.

 

“It was too easy, Joe, I don’t like it.”

 

“Shit’s easy when you do it right, now shut up.”

 

Tim grabbed a broom and swept up some broken glass, exchanging kind smiles with the thankful barkeep as he inched a bit closer. He scratched his brow, triggering the camera in his lens. It was a shithole of a bar, with half the tables under broken lights and the other half in blind spots, but Tim was able to get a clear shot of the two men and sweep away before they got skittish. One stocky, mustached, forties, the other younger and skinny as a rail.

 

He commed Jason on the way to the bathroom. “Jay, how fast can you get to 29th?”

 

“ _Names_ , little bird,” Jason admonished, sounding breathless and amused. Tim warmed, and quickly squashed the feeling; he could hear heavy, fast footsteps and he knew he’d caught Jason on patrol. “Seven, eight minutes. Miss me?”

 

“I could use your brand of intimidation for the Fat Frog case. Paulie’s Pub.”

 

“Fucking finally! Stall, will you? Ten minutes max.”

 

Tim chewed his lip, peeking back into the bar.

 

“Shit,” he muttered. The older man looked to be waiting at the bar for his tab. Thinking fast, Tim grabbed several empty glasses from the tables he passed, passing them to the barkeep. “You know, I’m so sorry for all the trouble you’ve had to deal with tonight. Everyone’s next round is on me!”

 

The few remaining patrons gave a few whoops, and Tim could barely contain his own as the man conceded and called for another few beers. Tim paid and slipped out before he could spook them any further, keeping one eye on the exit from the side alley.

 

“Golly goodness, I am so sorry for the commotion, mister.” Goddammit, Todd, always listening in.

 

“It worked, didn’t--”

 

Jason dropped from above, landing inches before Tim’s nose.

 

“So, what’s new?” Jason asked, planting an arm on the wall behind Tim’s head. He wanted to laugh, like this thing was just fun and games, just Jason and Tim. But of course, it could never be anything but that.

 

“The two men in the back right booth know something about Mac’s death. They might’ve even done it, but I don’t want to jump to conclusions over something I overheard.”

 

“Ah,” Jason hummed thoughtfully, cocking a hip. He had sharp, little canines that his lip curled over when he smirked. “And you need a big, bad wolf to scare it out of them.”

 

“Just thought you should do the honors.”

 

Jason’s smile was hungrier and merrier than Tim had ever seen it before, or maybe it was just because he was so close. In any case, Tim wasn’t prepared for Jason to take his cheeks in his hands. “Thanks. Don’t stick around.”

 

He was away through the door before Tim could even gather himself to reply, leaving the scent and soft touch of leather behind.

 

Tim drove himself hard for the rest of his patrol, getting into every fight he came across and chasing a suspect across twelve blocks before finally bringing him down. He was nearly home when Jason finally called.

 

“You there, little bird?”

 

“Yeah. Yes. What happened?”

 

“The Santos brothers have distant gang relations. Distant, but close enough for some cousin to get jealous of their success, and then pissed when Mac wouldn’t bail them out anymore. They’ve been blackmailing him since last August, trying to scare him into compliance.”

 

Jason was silent for a moment, but Tim didn’t press. He sounded rough, like he’d been yelling for hours.

 

“Mac Santos did commit suicide. But only after his cousins tortured him for months and hounded him the entire night before.”

 

“Why Mac, why not the other brother?”

 

“Nick was loyal. He gave them money, beer, whatever. As long as they stayed off his back. I don’t think Mac ever suspected Nick was enabling them.”

 

“And now?”

 

Jason didn’t speak. Tim could hear his soft, ragged breathing on the other end of the line. “No one to enable, now.”

 

“I see.”

 

“Don’t get scared off, now.”

 

Tim was silent for a long time. But those brothers, this case... “It’s why I asked for your help, Jay.”

 

A beat. “Anytime.”

 

The line cut dead. Tim unsuited, scarfed down some leftover pasta, and passed out.

 

Anytime? He looked forward to it.

 

Then Jason disappeared for the rest of Tim’s summer semester.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i honestly don't know if this is all that slow of a burn or as meandering as it feels lmao. but a relief to get them out of that brewery case! now they'll have to find some other pretext under which to hang out ;) 
> 
> thank you so much for reading and sticking with me! please leave me a comment letting me know your thoughts and reactions!


	6. Waiting for the Sun

Heat was more gentle here, humid and balmy in a way that crept under Jason’s skin, warming him from the inside out. It was so unlike Gotham’s oppressive weather, and too easy to relax and ponder in a place like this. Jason replayed the last week with Tim in his head even as the roar of his bike shattered the idyll of beachfront vistas, even as the butt of his gun shattered the nose of one of Sammy Garrett’s pawns.

 

The rumble of skateboards along the boardwalk conjured a vision of Tim every time, tipsy and fucking around on the little rail on his roof. He thought of Tim’s impossibly long fingers compressed in his fist, and that moment of too raw a connection for Jason’s drunken brain to comprehend at the time. Tim’s dark lashes, his eyes smoldering. The plain satisfaction that came from their surprisingly easy teamwork, and something else that Jason thought getting away from Gotham would help him forget for good.

 

He hadn’t told Tim he was leaving or where he was. In the weak hours of morning, a tune would come through his earpiece and Jason try to keep each track from adding the guilt he felt for cutting and running, for getting close to him in the first place.

 

He was grateful for the pounding, senseless music of the club, which made it difficult to piece together anything he knew and felt about Tim Drake. There was a complete certainty that this was where good old Sammy would be tonight, and Jason wasn’t going to give him another chance to leak another pill into Gotham.

 

It was incredible what a bribe paired with a threat could accomplish, Jason thought as he parted the heavy beaded curtains of the club’s back lounge. But he knew that this would be the easy part. Eyes followed him as he made his way to a rear table, but Jason didn’t care that his denim and leather stuck out like a sore thumb in the flash and color of the Miami. He wasn’t going for subtlety tonight.

 

“Evening,” Jason said curtly, slapping the baggie of pills onto the table with enough force to rattle the rocks glasses. Sammy bristled, but didn’t flinch. He shot his right hand man a look, and his entourage left the booth. Jason watched as they left, then turned to the man in the booth. “Trying to lull me into a sense of security, Sammy?”

 

“I avoid mixing business with pleasure,” Sammy said with a calculating look. He was grotesquely slender, with a rough five o'clock shadow and a shirt unbuttoned too far for his age. He lifted the baggie with his thumb and forefinger, eyeing it casually. “Though how you came across so much of my supply, I can’t seem to recall.”

 

“Call it a mutual friend,” Jason said, taking a seat and reclining. Maybe he could do subtlety, if that was the way Garrett wanted to play it.

 

“Mutual friend, eh? Well, hardly seems fair that you know me, but I don’t know you,” Sammy said, imitating Jason’s posture and swirling the watered down remnants of his drink around his glass.

 

“You will,” Jason said. “Perry Delgado was kind enough to send me your way.”

 

At that moment, the cocktail waitress came up to the table, and Sammy slid the pills out of sight.

 

“Another round?” she asked without a glance towards Jason. Sammy nodded and waved her away.

 

“Delgado is no longer in my employ. In fact, he’s no longer in anybody’s employ,” Sammy grinned. Jason smiled bitterly back, swallowing the glimmer of guilt that came from knowing he’d inadvertently pushed Perry Delgado into what was most certainly a horrific death.

 

"That's unfortunate." The waitress returned with two scotches on the rocks, with a twist. Jason had little taste for scotch, but he clinked glasses with Sammy and took a sip. It was smooth, though the twist was an unusual touch.

 

“Not really,” Sammy said coolly. “He was always unreliable. Few Gothamites are. I wouldn’t bother, really, if it weren’t for how much Gotham loves my product.”

 

Jason took another deep sip in lieu of retaliating with something stupid. The spirit stirred deeply in his blood the way a high quality scotch should. “There are plenty of other cities with a much lower risk than Gotham.”

 

Sammy shrugged, and his lack of a proper response made Jason’s face burn. This slick, greasy bastard wasn’t the man Jason wanted. He hated men like him, who so easily hid their misdeeds and wore their immorality like a badge of pride. The back of his neck prickled with sweat. “I’m giving you one chance to take your business elsewhere.”

 

“And I appreciate that,” Sammy said, his grin growing. A tremor ran through Jason’s hands--no, a tremble. “But you won’t get a chance to make good on it.”

 

Jason’s vision went black.

 

* * *

 

 

The first thing Jason registered when he regained consciousness, before he had even opened his eyes, was that he was chained hand and foot. The second was that he was rocking, the third was that it was broad daylight. He winced at the harsh brightness as he struggled to get his bearings.

 

Judging from the sun’s position, he’d been out for at least eight hours, and he was in a boat. A fucking _boat_ , goddammit. He’d been stripped down to his boxers and undershirt, completely unarmed, and he remembered enough of last night to know he should never have touched that fucking drink. He ground his jaw from side to side, feeling for the tiny communicator in his ear. They’d missed that, at least.

 

“Well, good morning!” The familiar voice made his head pound, and Jason let out the most aggravated groan he could manage.

 

“Morning, asshole.” He braced for the kick before he was even sure it was coming. Well, at least nice boat shoes hurt less than a boot. The yank on his hair hurt same as always, though.

 

“I don’t care that you compromised one of my dealers. I don’t even care that you stole my drugs,” Sammy hissed into his face. “But I do care about some nobody telling me how I should do business. So, who the fuck are you?”

 

“Suck my dick,” Jason growled. He nearly bit through his lip stifling his cry of pain as Sammy slammed his head down onto the deck.

 

“Well, whether you tell me or not, you’re getting out of my hair.” Pain seared through his head, and Sammy wasted no time in grabbing the chain around his feet and dragging him across the deck.

 

It was then that Jason noticed the pair of cinderblocks, another chain looped through them.

 

His eyes grew wide, and he started to pull free from the Sammy’s grip, but the chains were cruelly tight and Jason’s muscles felt atrophied. Whatever he drugged him with hadn’t just knocked him out, it’d made him weak. Was his communicator off? Why couldn’t he remember? Could anyone even come in time if he tried?

 

He twisted around while his legs were chained to the cinder blocks; good, he could still see the causeway. At least there was that. What few boats he could see looked to be much farther.

 

He greatly underestimated Sammy Garrett. He deserved to die.

 

Sammy opened the gate and removed the swim ladder. He placed a foot on the blocks.

 

“Any last words?”

 

Once chance. “Mayday, one mile out from the 195 bridge--”

 

He gasped just in time before the blocks were kicked off the edge and Jason slipped under the water with hardly a splash. He counted in his head, trying to remain calm, trying to preserve his breath. It only took a few seconds to hit the bottom, and when he opened his eyes, visibility was surprisingly good. He could see the sun above him, and judging from the drop, he was only 10 feet under. Seagrass stretched out before him.

 

He supposed there were uglier places and ways to die.

 

Hell, he knew that for a fact, but that didn’t mean he would go quietly. In practice, he could hold his breath for up to four minutes, but that had been with full lungs to start. He had three minutes at best.

 

His hands were more loosely chained that his feet, and it took a good  half minute to slip them free. He had maybe two minutes left to free himself and reach the surface; Jason glanced upwards and thanked his goddamn lucky stars that Sammy didn’t care to watch him to drown. The boat was gone.

 

His lungs started to squeeze. His feet were bound far too tightly to slip out, but maybe, just maybe he could unchain himself from the blocks. The tangle of chains were difficult to make out in the blurry water, and Jason’s fingers shook as the tightness in his chest grew, and grew. Panic was starting to set in as another minute passed, the seconds becoming more and more precious. There was no give in the knot of chains. _Come on, come on._

 

His vision started to spot. At least someone could find his body here. Jason closed his eyes and went slack, permitting himself to think one last time about Tim. Wishing he’d kissed him when he still had the chance.

 

A low rumble passed overhead, but Jason didn't register it. He was losing consciousness quickly; his three minutes were well up. Something swatted at his cheek, maybe a fish. The swat became a pinch, and his eyes fluttered open, slowly, and something was shoved into his mouth before he could gasp.

 

Jesus, he wasn’t even dead yet and he was already going mad. Floating before him was Tim, dark hair swirling around him like a goddamn mermaid. He reached for him, fisting at Tim’s tee shirt. He felt so real. His vision was blurred, but he could tell Tim looked deeply concerned, brows low over his brilliant eyes, clearer and deeper than any ocean.

 

Then Jason realized he could breathe, painfully, wretchedly so, but breathing. Tim gave him a thumbs up, a question, and Jason nodded and let go. He couldn’t see what Tim did, but then his feet were free and Tim’s arm was around his waist, kicking them off the ocean floor in a cloud of sand.

 

“Can you float for a minute?” Tim gasped when they broke the surface. Jason coughed, then nodded, exhausted, and drifted onto his back. It was a struggle, his chest spasming, but his head remained blessedly above water. Tim took the rebreather as the rumble of an engine sounded, then cut out. Jason didn’t realize his eyes were closed until Tim’s arm was around him again, pulling him. Then another pair of arms were taking hold of him, and Jason jerked.

 

“Come on, you’re not exactly light,” they grunted, and Jason twisted around towards a familiar face.

 

“Roy?” Jason asked, his voice barely a squeak. Holy shit, he was one lucky bastard. Roy hoisted him aboard the tiny boat, then helped Tim over. Jason fell back in his seat, coughing weakly and trying to keep his breaths steady. When Tim turned to him with a towel, Jason grabbed him instead, arms coming full around Tim in a tight, desperate embrace. He buried his face in Tim’s neck, hardly caring what Roy was seeing right now, and breathed. It took all of a second for Tim to squeeze back, a warm hand coming to the back of Jason’s neck. Roy’s.

 

“You’re okay,” Tim murmured, like he was reassuring himself as much as Jason. “You’re okay.”

 

“You didn’t just add music to my comm,” Jason slurred slowly. A tracker was the only way Tim could’ve found him in time. “But how’d you know something was wrong?”

 

“It reads your heart rate,” Tim said, pulling away. His hands stayed on Jason’s shoulders, warm and strong. “It alerted me when it dropped way low last night, then you weren’t responding. I just...something wasn’t right.”

 

“No shit,” Roy said with a chuckle that sounded more pained than anything else. They headed towards the shore, and Jason took the offered towel. Jason watched as the wind tore through Tim’s wet hair, their eyes meeting occasionally with a softly grim understanding that had Tim not followed his instincts, Jason would be dead.

 

“Boys,” Roy called out warningly, and Tim’s head whipped around. Jason followed his gaze, and his stomach plummeted. They were being followed, and Jason knew by who. They all knew. Roy gunned it, the boat skipping over the waves. The shore was closing in fast, but Sammy’s boat was faster. A shot rang over their heads. _Shit, shit, shit_.

 

“Take the wheel,” Roy said, careening towards the rear of the boat. Jason moved to the wheel, but Tim shoved him down by the shoulder as he passed.

 

“You’re sitting this one out,” he said as the boat picked up speed again. Another shot skimmed the side of the boat. Roy had pulled his bow from the under seat compartment and fired one back, but Sammy was far enough away adjust his course, the arrow hitting one of the leather seats. Roy notched another arrow, and Jason couldn’t help but smile in recognition.

 

“Try dodging this, motherfucker,” he barked, releasing it. The arrow buried itself in the hull of the speedboat and after half a beat, the hull was blasted apart. Tim didn’t let up, and Sammy fell behind, taking on water.

 

They tied off onto a little pier, and Tim gave him a hand stepping off the boat. Between the drug and nearly drowning, his limbs felt intensely weak. His knees shook as they marched towards a waiting car. Tim popped the trunk as they approached and rifled through a duffel. They changed into dry clothes in silence, and it was a testament to Jason’s state that he didn’t steal a glance.

 

“Where’s your bike?” Roy asked.

 

“Lacey’s. It’s a club.”

 

“Great. Go home,” Roy said. Jason opened his mouth to protest, and balked when Roy touched a fingers to his lips. “Go. Home. We got this.”

 

Tim opened the driver side and smiled softly at Jason, and it was so terribly easy to give in, to let this man and his best friend take care of him.

 

“Fine, fine.” He hugged Roy tightly and thanked him, then got in the passenger side. The car was blessedly warm, and neither of them touched the air conditioning for a long time.

 

“He’ll call the police to pick up Sammy Garrett,” Tim said before they entered the highway. He fiddled with the radio before landing on a station playing 80’s pop.

 

“I know,” Jason said. He wasn’t thinking about prosecution or revenge at the moment, instead staring at the way Tim’s hair curled at the ends as it dried and thinking it was cute. Tim’s henley stretched tightly over his still damp chest, one pink-knuckled hand on the wheel and the other on the arm rest. Jason remembered thinking about kissing him, just before passing out in the water. He felt a similar drowning sensation now, this one enveloping and pleasant and freeing.

 

It didn’t last.

 

“Do you have any idea how goddamned lucky you are?” Tim’s face was pinched, similar to but not exactly like anger.

 

“Obviously,” Jason frowned.

 

“You left the state, alone, without telling anybody. You confronted a criminal whose violence is well documented, again alone and without telling anybody,” Tim said, each word brutally precise.

 

“I didn’t want to drag anyone else into it,” Jason said. It was partially true; he simply was used to working alone and bearing consequences alone. Maybe he should’ve given notice, but bringing backup never occurred to him. He just had to get some space from his feelings, for all the good it did. 

 

“You called us partners,” Tim said quietly, not looking at Jason.

 

“We are,” Jason said, but he knew what a useless sentiment it was in this moment. “I just didn’t think I’d need help.”

 

“No one does, until they’re bleeding out or kidnapped or _drowning_.”

 

“Tim,” Jason was pleading now. “Come on, I couldn’t put you into that situation.”

 

 _Bullshit._ If Tim were there, he might’ve never been drugged. He was far more experienced with interpersonal fieldwork, the battles they fight without fists. There was a reason Jason didn’t go for subtlety, but finesse was built into everything Tim did. It was why they worked so well together in the first place.

 

Jason was a stupid, stupid man.

 

“Fuck you.”

 

“Yeah,” Jason murmured in agreement.

 

Pat Benatar filled the silence between them, and when the song faded out, Tim shut off the radio entirely. Jason glanced at him, and at the warring rage and anxiety on Tim’s face, and waited for the blow.

 

“If you ever,” Tim started slowly. “ _Ever_ make that decision for me again, I’ll kill you myself. Let me decide if you’re worth the risk. Just ask, Jay.”

 

Tim held his gaze for as long as the road would allow him to, leaving Jason to process his words long after he broke their eye contact.

 

“Pull over,” Jason said finally. “Now, pull over.”

 

Tim shot him a concerned look and took the nearest exit, pulling off to the side of the road. “Are you okay?”

 

“I hope so,” Jason said, and leaned over the console, took Tim’s cheek in his hand, and kissed him. Tim inhaled sharply through his nose, then relaxed, turning his head into the kiss. It was a soft, daring thing, turned sweet and desperate, Tim’s lips a perfect push to Jason’s pull.

 

“Oh,” Tim sighed when they broke apart, then pulled Jason in by the nape of his neck for another kiss, this one slower, like they were trying each other out. Jason moaned softly, the hand still on Tim’s cheek moving to run through his hair. It was hopelessly rough from the salt and the wind, and his hand got trapped in the tangle immediately. Tim chuckled. “Ow.”

 

“Sorry,” Jason said, his voice coming out in a hoarse whisper. He sat back in his seat, cheeks warm, and cleared his throat. “I'm so sorry.”

 

“It’s ok,” Tim said, just as quietly. He was smiling shyly, like he was trying to contain something greater and failing. “Let’s get you home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAH! is all i have to say
> 
> just kidding. you bet your buckets that tim loves him some bjork. i'm so sorry for the delay, and i know i promised art, but my job has straight up been kicking my ass the last couple weeks and things are just starting to level out for me again. someday, art, but for now, a new chapter.
> 
> i hope you like this one and thank you for reading! all your comments have me blown away and give me the energy to keep this fic going despite Life Problems, so thank you, thank you, thank you. you guys are wonderful.


	7. Come Away With Me

Jason fell asleep on the drive to the airport and barely seemed awake for the boarding, passing out again as soon as the plane took off. He snored softly, sleeping stomach down on the chaise and looking far more vulnerable than he had looked bound and drowning. Tim was starting to get used to seeing Jason like this; not Red Hood, not a ghost, but a young man like himself; fallible and familiar.

 

He was grateful, honestly, for the time to think before returning to the real world. There were so many reasons to regret what they’d just done. History aside, they were both vigilantes, so any significant attachments were a risk to each other. Tim was certain that the last few times he’d kissed anyone had turned out disastrously for everyone involved. Though, if anybody were up to the challenge, it was Jason. Him and Jason, both.

 

Jason stirred with a snore, one arm slipping off the edge to dangle just above the jet floor. He didn’t wake, though, and Tim indulged in the fullness of his lips, the broadness of his shoulders, the freckles that had become more pronounced during his time in Florida. He drank him in, the memory of Jason’s lips and touch and breath still vivid.

 

A part of Tim--a large part, honestly--was still angry with him for leaving without a word, especially on a case that Tim himself had helped Jason with. He tried to leave that door of communication open, tuning into their frequency with a song whenever he got off a patrol, but maybe that was too subtle for Jason. It wasn’t like Tim actually called him, either.

 

God, they were both dumb. They really deserved each other. 

 

The plane jostled, pulling Tim from his thoughts. Jason woke with a sharp inhale, looking around blearily. Seeing Tim, he gave a sleepy half smile before his head fell back down onto his arm, asleep again. Tim bit at his knuckle, stopping the giggle in his throat. 

 

Once the plane had leveled out again, Tim rose and paced to the other side of the plane, scrolling through his contacts. Roy picked up quickly.

 

“I know I should be mad that you’re in a private jet while I drive cross country, but man,” Roy whistled. “This bike. She _purrs_.”

 

“Thanks for doing this,” Tim said, his voice just above a whisper. The longer Jason slept, the longer Tim had to pretend the kiss was something more to Jason than a moment of adrenaline after near death. It couldn’t be more.

 

“Not necessary,” Roy said in a firm voice. “I should be thanking you. He’s fucking lucky.”

 

“Please tell me that bastard drowned before the authorities got there.”

 

“No such luck. Here’s hoping they have enough to lock him up for good.”

 

“That’s taken care of,” Tim said. Miami P.D. would find a carefully curated set of records and financial evidence on the commissioner’s front desk that would do just that, courtesy of Tim. No loose ends on this one.

 

“Good. Gotta go, I’m still on the road,” Roy said.

 

“Thanks again,” Tim said before hanging up. The ensuing silence was stifling, only the hum of the plane and the occasional snore breaking through. He booted up his laptop, taking respite in homeworkand emails.

 

In truth, even if Jason had called during the last few weeks, Tim would’ve had a hard time returning them. Tim closed seven cases of his own, graduated, and officially accepted an executive position at Wayne Enterprise’s tech division, and of course, planning a press conference wasn’t enough to announce that, oh _no_. That required an entire gala event, because how better to convey that Tim Drake Wayne is a younger, equally capable Bruce Wayne than to cover page six? It’s what the investors liked to see, even more than a master’s degree. He still needed to get his suit tailored again before Saturday.

 

Tim wouldn’t put up with it, if it weren’t for the persistent anxiety that he can’t be Red Robin forever. Never mind the fact that he’d do anything to keep Damian from ever becoming his boss, and besides, he did like the job. He was good at it, too.

 

A hand on his shoulder startled him, sending Tim’s heart into his throat and the laptop sliding to the floor. He hissed as the headphones were ripped out of his ears.

 

“Sorry,” Jason said. His voice was rough. “I tried getting your attention.”

 

“It’s okay,” Tim said, rubbing his ears. He closed the laptop and slid it under a seat. “How are you feeling?”

 

Jason waved a hand dismissively, and it made Tim worry more than had Jason lied. Tim could see that Jason held himself stiffly, that bruises were blooming violently purple on his wrists, and that his sinuses were puffy, likely due to sucking in sea water. He wouldn’t just be supremely sore in a day’s time, but sick as well. Tim had a feeling Jason was one to brush off his health, like the less fuss he made over an injury, the less trouble it would cause him. Or was it others?

 

“I’ve felt worse,” Jason finally conceded.

 

“Well, true as I’m sure that is,” Tim said with a wry smile. “It’s no reason to feel shitty now.”

 

Tim dug around in the mini bar for ice packs and a water bottle, and found a few Tylenol Three’s in his backpack, only one of which was Tim able to convince Jason to take. It wasn’t exactly the kind of care package Tim would like to deliver, but it was something.

 

“Does this T.V. work?” Jason asked, poking around the controls. Tim scrambled for the remote; _a distraction, god, yes, please_. “Wait, how long was I out?”

 

“Not long,” Tim said, loading Netflix. “We should land in an hour forty-five. Do you like _The Office_?”

 

“Mhm,” Jason hummed. “Go to like, season four, though.”

 

Tim picked an episode he remembered liking. The show’s theme was a cheery, bright contrast to the tension and silence of the flight. Well, for Tim, anyway; Jason had been asleep basically since they’d kissed.

 

About halfway through, Jason broke the distance between them, tucking his feet up, his knees brushing Tim’s thigh. He looked tired, eyes lidded. He was an awfully big man to be affected by one Tylenol Three, but then again, he did nearly drown a few hours ago. Tim ached to touch him, not just to kiss, but to embrace, to feel Jason in his arms, alive and real. The single point of contact between them felt like it was burning.

 

“Check out this elephant,” Jason murmured halfway through the show, his gaze sliding slowly to Tim’s with an apprehensive expression. Tim felt chastened all of a sudden, despite the attempt at levity.

 

“We can wait to talk about it,” he said, but Jason simply shook his head.

 

“No, I need to be straight with you.” Tim’s stomach lurched, only slightly comforted by the fact that he was expecting the worst, anyway. Jason had the right idea; rip off the bandaid. _Eat the frog._

 

“I wanted to kiss you before I left, and I still want to kiss you now. But if you just want to be friends, and I really like being your friend, then I’d understand.”

 

Tim felt frozen, by Jason’s honesty, by shock, by the sheer realization that _this_? This thing between them? Was actually, miraculously mutual. So he decided to take a leaf out of Jason’s playbook. He reached for Jason, tentatively at first, cupping the nape of his neck in his hand.

 

Jason leaned into it, eyes fluttering shut. He looked sad; didn’t he realize, yet? Tim couldn’t bear another minute of Jason not knowing. He kissed him, clumsier than their first, teeth catching lips and limbs clambering for better position. He ended up pulling Jason partially over his lap, the both of them falling back into the couch cushions. For the first time ever, Tim felt truly grateful for the luxuries of a private jet.

 

“Tim,” Jason said in a reedy voice. “Tim, thank fuck.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Tim gasped between kisses.

 

“What for?” Jason asked, moving to kiss Tim’s neck. Tim had no idea what kind of noise escaped him then, but it felt amazing, too amazing, and he arched into the bracket of Jason’s body.

 

“I don’t know. For waiting. For--for nothing,” Tim stuttered. Jason’s hands were wandering along the hem of his shirt, creeping under to caress his rough fingers along Tim’s ribs. He couldn’t think.

 

It felt wonderful, to not think.

 

“Good,” Jason murmured. He brushed their noses together in a gesture so soft, yet so like Jason. Almost needy, desperate in a way that shouldn’t be defined as sexual.

 

With a start, Tim realized how exhausted Jason must still be. He himself was all too familiar with the kind of post adrenaline crash that almost dying brought on. Tim scooted up against the arm rest. “Come here.”

 

Jason’s cheek fit so well in the crook of his neck, Tim thought. The weight and warmth of his body on Tim’s was everything he didn’t know he wanted. He smiled, pressing kisses into Jason’s salty hair.

 

“This is awfully cute of us,” Jason drawled sleepily.

 

“Shush,” Tim said with a chuckle. They had less than an hour before returning to Gotham and to more work, more questions, more brushes with death.

 

Jason fell asleep again easily, and before Tim could help himself, he had, too.

 

* * *

 

“I think I can finally breathe through my nose,” Jason moaned between slurps of hot and sour soup. “Oh, my god.”

 

Roy raised an amused brow as he ate a crab rangoon whole. He’d returned Jason’s bike in one fully fueled piece (albeit many hours later than the journey should’ve taken him), and brought Chinese takeout on top of it. What Jason did to deserve a friend like Roy, he had no clue, but he wasn’t about to question it now.

 

“So…” Roy started.

 

“Don’t.”

 

“I didn’t say nothing.”

 

“You were gonna.”

 

“Gonna say what?” Roy smirked. Jason’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Just saying, you don’t hug me like that.”

 

Oh, of course Roy wanted to talk about _that_ , and not the nearly-dying-alone-in-Miami thing. Jason fished a bamboo shoot out with his spoon, chewing it thoughtfully. “To be fair, I liked him before he saved my ass.”

 

“I’m sure you did,” Roy said smugly. “So something did happen.”

 

“Why do you care? Jealous?” Jason didn’t really mind telling Roy (better than screaming from the rooftops that he _kissed Tim Drake_ ), but he so rarely liked somebody, kissed somebody, fell for somebody.

 

_Yeah._

 

“Not of him,” Roy scoffed. Jason laughed and kicked him under the table. “What? I’m straight, not blind. He’s a catch; you’re gross.”

 

“I’m a catch,” Jason said scornfully. Roy snickered gracelessly. Jason slurped down the last of the soup, then stole a bit of Roy’s chicken.

 

“I kissed him,” Jason said finally, cheeks burning. “And then he kissed me.”

 

Roy whistled sarcastically. “Wow. You absolute dog.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“Aw, I’m just messing. I’m happy for you.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Tell him to be gentle with your virginity.”

 

Jason punched Roy in the shoulder as un-gently as he could. Served him right.

 

“Thanks for the food,” Jason said with a prim smile while Roy winced and rubbed at his arm with a glare.

 

“You’re welcome,” he growled. “Asshat.”

 

Once Roy had left, Jason occupied himself with his neglected apartment, updating the now two month old access codes and procedures, taking inventory of his somewhat dwindling supply of ammunition, and making a grocery list, all while composing in his head someway to ask Tim over for dinner that wasn’t entirely lame.

 

As Jason sifted through packages of rosemary, looking for the most robust sprigs in the less than impressive produce section of his neighborhood grocery, Tim reliably came through his communicator to save him the trouble.

 

“So, want to do something tonight?”

 

“You read my mind, Red. I’ll cook if you pick the wine. I’m shit at that.”

 

“What are you making?”

 

“What, and ruin the surprise?”

 

“Well, just the wine pairing,” Tim said, and Jason could so very easily picture the little, posh smirk Tim was no doubt sporting at the moment.

 

“Pork.”

 

“Pork à la…?”

 

“Nice try. Pick up something for dessert, too.”

 

“Mmm, bossy.”

 

Jason glanced furtively around, like anyone would actually care if he was blushing and trying not to smile while in the butcher aisle. “Do you, uh. Do you like that?”

 

Tim laughed, warming Jason up to the tips of his ears. “Oh, my god. One step at a time, big guy.”

 

Jason found some gorgeous fat pork chops with the bone in, but had to substitute yellow onions for the shallots he’d hoped to find. As he chopped the apples and trimmed the rosemary, he tried to recall the last time he'd cooked, or took a real night off, let alone a night off for a date. Or a friend date. Or even a ‘me time’ date. It had been many, many, months, and one thing was sure: Jason missed cooking like an old friend. He didn’t cart around his cast iron from safehouse to safehouse for nothing, after all.

 

Said skillet was heating up as Jason trimmed the chops, and they were searing away when Tim walked through his door.

 

“That smells good,” Tim called from the entry way with an inflection that could only be described as a moan. The deep resonance of his voice always lit a fire in Jason’s belly, but that was before they’d kissed. Now? Now, they could kiss again, and again. In fact, they could kiss right now. “Are those apple--”

 

Jason cut him off with a swift kiss as he stepped through the kitchen doorway, relishing the way Tim’s surprised peal of laughter melted between their lips. The bags Tim was holding fell to the floor with a heavy thunk, and Tim’s cool hands slid around his waist, finding their way under Jason’s tee shirt to skin. He groaned, running his hands up the nape of Tim’s neck to fist in his hair, making him gasp. His tongue was sought Jason’s and he surrendered to the kiss entirely, letting Tim back him up to the counter and shuddering as those cools hands moved to his front and thumbed gently along his ribs.

 

The skillet spattered, tiny droplets of hot oil splattering against the back of his arm, and he jerked, breaking the kiss. “Shit!”

 

Jason lunged for a tea towel and shook the pan rigidly. The beautiful pork chops, blessedly, had not burned, but only just. Hopefully Tim appreciated a little char. Tim chuckled and bustled around behind him, and Jason heard the fridge open and close, and the pop of a cork as Jason transferred the apples and onions into the skillet. Tim was waiting with a glass of red wine once Jason delivered the whole ensemble into the oven.

 

“There’s sauvignon blanc, too, if you don’t like red,” Tim said, looking a little sheepish and very pink.

 

“I like both,” Jason said easily, trying not to betray his nervousness by taking a generous sip of the merlot. He wished he’d left himself something to do, but the table was already set, the food good to go. Just him, and Tim. “Music?”

 

“Sure,” Tim said, taking out his phone.

 

“Oh, no,” Jason said, heading toward the minimalist living room. “I have...um...well, here. Pick.”

 

He slid open the cabinet door for his entertainment system to reveal his modest record collection. Tim gave him an excited smile and rushed over, kneeling before the shelf comfortably with his wine. “I’ve never listened to vinyl before.”

 

“Really? A hipster like you?” Jason teased.

 

“You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means,” Tim deadpanned as he gently flipped through the records. He glanced at Jason with a little smirk before focusing on the selection. Jason ran his fingers through his bangs self consciously until Tim rose with his Norah Jones record, which was very…

 

Moody. As in, _mood music-y._

 

Jason never really had a problem finding dates before; in fact, he’d been beating them off with a stick since he was too young for it to be appropriate. But coming back from the dead didn’t exactly rev up the libido, and it took a few years to feel at home in his body again. He hadn’t really thought much about feeling at home with his body and...somebody else’s.

 

It occurred to Jason, as he took the sizzling pork chops from skillet to plate, that aside from an occasional one off, he’d never spent this half of his life--his adult life, for that matter--involved with another person. In fact, the more Jason thought about it, and Roy’s jibing, the more he realized how absolutely out of his element he felt.

 

“That smells so good,” Tim moaned as Jason set the plate before him. “Alfred did mention he spent a good amount time coaching you.”

 

“One of my favorite parts of living at the manor,” Jason said with a smile. At least Tim wouldn’t be running off because of the food. It seemed to be the way to this man's heart, anyway.

 

“I was a useless student,” Tim said, eating with the gusto Jason was quickly becoming accustomed to. “Poor Alfred, I ruined more food than he probably thought possible. I actually destroyed a couple pans once.”

 

“What were you trying to make?” Jason asked.

 

“I think it was muffins. I fell asleep and woke up to Bruce dragging me out of the house because all the fire alarms were going off,” Tim laughed. “I’d only been Robin for a few months and I thought for sure they were going to kick me out.”

 

“Robins have done far worse things,” Jason said demurely. Tim barked out a laugh, and Jason flushed, pleased.

 

“I know you’re referring to yourself, but you didn’t live with Damian,” Tim said between bites of apple. “Yum.”

 

“I somehow don’t have any problem doubting that,” Jason chuckled. Tim predictably finished eating long before Jason, and rose to retrieve the bottle of merlot. He refilled Jason’s glass with a warm look and emptied the last of it into his own.

 

“I get to deal with him all day tomorrow,” Tim said with a dramatically droopy expression and a long sip.

 

“Why?” Jason said, pairing up his last chunk of apple with a particularly crispy bite of pork.

 

“Well, in Bruce’s words, if I’m photographed in that goddamned Dolce and Gabbana suit one more time, he’s going to burn it,” Tim said with a scarily impressive impression of the Bat. “And because Bruce has a sense of humor like the devil, my fitting at Armani coincides with Damian’s.”

 

“Oh, no,” Jason said, making no effort at all to hide his snigger. “What’s the occasion?”

 

Tim’s arms flew out wide, with enough grace that he didn’t even spill his wine. “You’re looking at the new chief of technology at Wayne Enterprises. Gala to follow.”

 

“Oh,” Jason blinked. He wasn’t all that surprised; of all of Bruce’s proteges, Tim was certainly the best fit for the family business. Er, other family business. “Wow. This is...good news?”

 

“Definitely! I love the job. I just would’ve preferred a press conference or something, but Bruce thinks a big page six item would be more reassuring to his board,” Tim said with a delicate eye roll.

 

“Well, congratulations,” Jason said, raising a glass. They toasted, Tim blushing at the praise, or perhaps flushing from the wine. “I guess I missed a lot while I was gone.”

 

“Nah. It’s been in the works for ages,” Tim said with a long stretch. The muscles of his shoulders bunched visibly under his petal soft tee shirt, and Jason rose quickly to clear their plates, lest he jump him now. Unfortunately for Jason, Norah Jones had other plans that had everything to do with...turning everybody on.

 

“Worry about those later,” Tim said softly, appearing behind him. His hand slid around Jason’s waist, coaxing him out of the kitchen, and Jason felt powerless except to follow. Tim had the bottle of white wine and a corkscrew in one hand, and oh, lord, he was already holding the bottle between the vise-grip of his thighs and popping the cork and Jason couldn’t help but admire those wonderful long fingers at work.

 

“I don’t normally do this,” Jason blurted.

 

“Drink wine?” Tim asked as he poured.

 

“With--people I kiss.” The words came out embarrassingly jerky. Tim stepped into his space, placing a hand on Jason’s hip and rising on his toes so they were nose to nose.

 

“Then let’s find a way for it to feel normal. There’s nothing that needs to happen here,” Tim murmured, and Jason kissed him, just a little, fleeting thing, because Tim was so close and he smelled like his cooking and a familiar, grassy cologne.

 

“I do want some things to happen,” Jason said softly, running his fingers through the hair at Tim’s temples. It was worth it just to see the way Tim’s lashes fluttered at the soft touch before those eyes bore into him, cuttingly blue.

 

“Well, in that case,” Tim said, falling back onto the couch with his knees splayed, crooking a finger at him playfully. “Let’s take our time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope the food porn tides you over, because there's actual porn in the next chapter ;)
> 
> so, hello again! you guys, i'm so dumb. i thought the airplane scene was already posted and ive been spending all this time writing what i thought was a normal size chapter. so now you get a slightly meatier one. please excuse the POV switch; i know i haven't done it in the middle of a chapter before but it's what it needed, man. 
> 
> additionally, because i've been getting super caught up in a webcomic project, i've been losing steam on this fic. so i would extra doubley love your feedback in the comments, possibly suggestions?!! <3 you guys are so wonderful and thank you for all your patience and kindness, i go back and reread comments often when i need a little zing.


	8. Do You Mind?

Tim loved this.

 

He loved the way two people can dance about each other for ages, endlessly orbiting one another before finally colliding. In many ways, Tim’s course had been set to meet Jason’s for far longer than either of them could say. The form that course ultimately took was a surprise to them both, enemies to rivals to friends and then...here they were.

 

“Hey,” Jason murmured, grazing a thumb across Tim’s cheek. “Space cadet.”

 

“Sorry,” Tim said, leaving his woolgathering behind. After all, the subject of his reverie was right beside him. The Norah Jones record had played itself out, and Jason had replaced it with something steady that Tim didn’t recognize. He’d ask about it later. “Where were we?”

 

“About here, I think,” Jason said with a quiet smile as he leaned down for a kiss. Tim reached for his hips, forefingers hooking into the belt loops and leaning back so to pull Jason on top of him. Jason moved carefully, slowly, easing them gently back onto the couch cushions. Their thighs notched together, and Tim couldn’t help but press against the massive thigh between his own. Jason writhed against him in response, mouth falling open silently and eyes fluttering closed. He drew back, predictably so, like he had each time in the last hour that things felt a little too intense, too good.

 

“I like you on top of me like this,” Tim said, his voice coming out in a soft whisper. He hadn’t meant for it to. It seemed to put Jason at ease, though, as he relaxed a little more against the length of Tim’s body. Jason smiled, teeth catching his lower lip.

 

“I'm crushing you,” he said.

 

“You're not. You feel good,” Tim said. His hands had somehow found their way underneath Jason’s shirt and were gliding along the muscles of his back. His skin was warm and soft, and occasionally Tim could feel the ridge or dimple of a scar. He let his fingers wander, watching the soft pleasure cascade through Jason’s expression for the moment before Jason leaned in to kiss his neck. His chin tipped upwards, head falling back to make way for the ticklish, hot pleasure of Jason’s mouth. He groaned. “Jay.”

 

Jason hummed in response, and Tim could feel Jason’s cock jerk against his hip at the sound of his name and it was all Tim would do to keep from moaning out loud. Tim’s body was thrumming, each nerve exposed and tuned towards Jason. He pulled at the Jason’s shirt, the twining the hem around his knuckles.

 

“Off,” he pleaded, and Jason didn’t wait, leaning back and pulling the tee over his head with a smooth motion. Tim started to shimmy out of his own, but it proved more difficult as he was laying down. He blushed as Jason chuckled and lifted off of his hips so Tim could sit up and pull it off successfully. Once his head had cleared the confines of the shirt, Jason tipped him back against the cushion with a delicate nudge to Tim’s chest. He fell back with a breathless gasp of laughter, drinking in the sight before him.

 

Tim had always thought of himself as a fairly scarred person, but Jason put that to shame. There were shiny, new scars here, old, pale ones there, knotted scars from bullet holes, rash-like scars, and most notably, a thin, pink rope of a scar that ran from belly to sternum, forking across his chest. Tim’s hand was drawn to it subconsciously, thumb tracing it’s length before Tim realized what he was doing. He drew his hand back just as quickly.

 

“It’s okay. It’s old,” Jason said before Tim could apologize.

 

“I didn’t know there was an…” Tim swallowed hard. Jason’s death and autopsy was over a decade ago; it was common knowledge in the family by the time Tim ever really learned what had happened. Tim just didn’t realize how much of that time Jason had to carry back with him. How much the Lazarus pit forgot.

 

“A long, long time ago,” Jason said, stressing the words. He pressed a knuckle under Tim’s chin, lifting his eyes to his own, away from the scars. Jason looked so serenely calm that it really just made the realization all that much worse; that Jason once had been in so much pain, indescribable pain, and it made Tim’s eyes misty with the ache that someone he’d come to care for had ever had to endure so much. “Sweet that someone can still mourn for me, though.”

 

Tim swatted Jason’s hand away with a sniff of a laugh, grateful for the levity and even more so for the fierce kiss that followed. Jason leaned back, failing to break the kiss even as the shift in gravity startled Tim, kissing him until the sorrow dissolved between them. It was admittedly more comfortable like this, sprawled over Jason’s barrel of a chest like he weighed nothing (and Tim decidedly did not; he was still more built than most men his height, but Jason was generally just larger than most _men_ ).

 

Jason’s hands roamed freely along Tim’s body, squeezing his neck, sliding a wide palm down his back, fingertips grazing the skin just underneath his waistband. Tim arched into the touch like a needy cat, mouth parting with a whisper of a groan so Jason’s tongue could meet his own. The sensation was like melted chocolate, and it warmed Tim down to his toes.

 

“What do you want?” Tim asked in a soft voice, lips grazing the scruff of Jason’s cheek before delving into the crook of his neck, kissing the hot, salty skin there. Jason’s grip tightened around Tim’s hips in lieu of a moan, kneading at the upper curve of his ass.

 

“Don’t really know where to begin,” Jason said in a light voice that sounded caught, half in a laugh, half in his throat. His skin smelled like white wine, like rosemary, leather and charcoal. Tim let his teeth graze along the skin, smiling when it startled a shudder out of Jason.

 

“Spoiled for choice, I see,” Tim said. He braced his arms on either side of Jason and slid down, down, dropping kisses along his chest, stomach, hip bones. That made Jason jump with a gasp, hand flying to Tim’s shoulder to stop him there.

 

“Ticklish,” he explained needlessly.

 

“‘Kay,” Tim replied. He popped the button of Jason’s jeans open with a dull snap. “Have you ever…?”

 

“Do I really seem that inexperienced?” Jason asked with a languid smirk. His hands threading nervously through Tim’s hair betrayed him, though. Tim gave him an easy shrug. He knew Jason had been with women, though to what extent, Tim couldn’t be sure, and as for men, Tim had no idea. The possibility of being Jason’s first was sort of intoxicating.

 

“Yes, I’ve gotten head before,” Jason said with a roll of his eyes.

 

“Given?” Tim ventured.

 

“N….not so much,” Jason said, dragging the first consonant out with a distracted glance towards Tim’s hands, which were inching underneath the fly of Jason’s jeans.

 

“Wanna try?”

 

Jason outright groaned, head tossing back and covering his face in his hands. “Yes.”

 

“Um,” Tim started with a chuckle. “Then why the dramatics?”

 

Jason half sat up, supporting himself on his elbows. “Because your mouth is right there and as much as I want to, your mouth is right. _There_.”

 

“Oh,” Tim said, sucking at his lip to hold back the pleased grin. “Then I can proceed?”

 

“ _Tim._ ”

 

“Okay, okay,” Tim murmured, kissing along the thick path of curls just above Jason’s waistband. Jason’s cock was thick in his hand, heavy and warm and he didn’t smell like cooking down here, no, he smelled heady and divine. Tim was distracted momentarily by the nearness of it, kissing the tip through Jason’s briefs, which then bumped him on the nose as Jason’s hips lifted and he shimmied his jeans down his thighs. Never one to miss a beat, Tim settled easily back into the V of Jason’s legs. His blood felt like champagne, pressurized, bubbly, and intoxicating. He practically purred, watching Jason watching him watching his...everything, the aching, carmine pink head of his thick cock, jutting out from a dense fluff of curls, to the tight, heavy balls, the seductive, dark crevice of his cheeks. Jason’s knees drew in a little, almost self conscious despite the fact that the motion just revealed more of himself to Tim.

 

“I’m up here,” Jason said, a little creak in his voice. Tim glanced back up to his eyes, only a little bashful, if he were honest. Jason’s cheeks were impossibly flushed, lips parted, watching Tim carefully.

 

“You’re gorgeous,” Tim said, nipping at Jason’s inner thigh without breaking the eye contact. Jason sighed in pleasure, but there was no retort. Just that wonderful, unguarded, hazel gaze, this vulnerability of Jason’s that Tim was starting to cherish so greatly. He kissed the other thigh, letting his tongue lave over the hot skin, along the white striations left long ago by a growth spurt, and Jason’s subsequent soft groan made Tim’s cock throb.

 

He wrapped his fingers around Jason’s length, squeezing just firmly enough to feel him throb against his palm. A shining pearl of liquid formed at the tip, and Tim bowed down to suckle it away. He moaned when Jason bucked into the sensation, surprising himself. He wasn’t exceptionally enthusiastic about blowing someone, but there was something about Jason that made him ache to put his mouth on him, drive him wild with the hot, slippery pleasure.

 

“Don’t tease me,” Jason said in a pleading whisper, and Tim didn’t need any more coaxing than that. He took him into his mouth, his own cock aching at how steel hard Jason was, using his hands when the thickness of Jason’s cock made Tim’s jaw ache too much from the stretch. He slid his hand up Jason’s chest the next time he went down, feeling him heave and pant. Curiously, Tim rolled a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Jason’s hips bucked with a sharp moan, and Tim gagged, pulling off with a gasp.

 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Jason said, voice hoarse. He lunged up, hands on either side of Tim’s cheeks to kiss him, hungry and apologetic.

 

“‘S okay, it was hot,” Tim said. His head felt a little floaty from the periodic breathlessness, the liquor, his own arousal. He kissed back in a bit of a daze, stroking Jason steadily, brushing a thumb over the head to make Jason shiver. With his other hand, he continued with the nipple, more gently this time, just circling a finger around, and _oh_ , that was the reaction he wanted, right there. Jason bucked into his hand, finding a rhythm, breathing moans into their kisses.

 

“Come on,” Tim gasped as Jason stiffened impossibly more in his hand. “Come for me, Jay.”

 

Jason broke the kiss with a keening groan, burying his face in Tim’s shoulder as he came into Tim’s hand, moaning and he thrusted into Tim’s fist through the aftershocks. He nuzzled at the crook of Tim’s neck, shoulders heaving until the last of it was through.

 

* * *

 

“Goddamn,” Jason whispered. Tim giggled, his clean hand wrapping around him in languid embrace while he pressed kisses into his hair. Jason felt carved out, open, and leaned into the affection without a self conscious thought, for perhaps the first time all night. When he finally left the refuge of Tim’s neck, Tim’s expression was unreadable, his eyes dark and ravenous.

 

“Lay back,” he said, scooting back to give Tim room. Tim obliged, shimmying out of his slacks as well, and Jason couldn’t help but keep one eye on him as he grabbed a napkin from the table for Tim’s hand. He smiled like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth as he held his hand out for Jason to wipe clean, and really, wasn’t it the least he could do after making him come? In any case, Jason always imagined that blowing Tim would include Tim’s beautiful, long fingers in his hair.

 

Tim reclined once he’d finished, one arm behind his head and the other cupping himself. He already looked utterly licentious, knees parted and expectant and hard. So fucking hard, Jason could see the wet spot where he’d been straining against his boxers. He had more bruises than scars, save for a two inch long scar on his abdomen that looked like it’d been quite bad once. Jason wondered how many bruises were from the job, and how many from his own skateboard. He gently drew a finger along a yellowing bruise on Tim’s side.

 

“I bruise like a peach,” Tim said with a little derision.

 

“Is that so?” Jason said with a wolfish smile before sinking his teeth into Tim’s pec and sucking. Tim _squealed_ , a laugh of a cry that came with a full body flail as Jason worked his tongue over the spot until he was sure it was at least raspberry colored before pulling off with a pop. Tim was right, though, he did bruise easily; the spot looked more like a mottled blackberry.

 

“Bastard,” Tim sighed, the pejorative sounding more like a pet name as Jason kissed his way down Tim’s lean tummy.

 

“You liked it, little bird,” Jason said, giving Tim’s cock a hard squeeze, and it jerked in his hand, maybe at the jibing or the pet name or just the touch, but it nearly had Jason hard again. He tugged at Tim’s boxers until he lifted his hips and he could pull them off, toss them far, far away, over his shoulder and making Tim laugh. It made the next part easier, less nerve wracking.

 

Tim gasped as Jason took him into his mouth, rolling his tongue experimentally around the firm head. He tasted salty and hot and it was unlike anything Jason had experienced before, not like a girl, not this hardness filling his mouth and throbbing against his tongue, pleasing that animalistic part of him that wanted to push, deeper and deeper, submitting himself to Tim's pleasure. Tim’s hands ran through his hair, gripping like it was all he could do not to thrust and Jason was grateful for that because every moment, every inch was both uncharted territory and unforeseen bliss.

 

He moaned, or tried to, he didn’t realize just how deep he had Tim’s cock in his throat, and holy shit, wasn’t that a thought? He pushed a little deeper, feeling the strain of it, surprised at the valiant throb of his own cock when Tim keened.

 

“Jason, I’m close,” he said, fast, like a warning. Jason, ever willing to make the hastiest call in judgement, stayed fast, laving his tongue along the underside of Tim’s cock as he bobbed, sliding just a little deeper into his throat with each thrust. Tim’s fist tightening in his hair was the last warning he got before Tim was coming, cock pulsating. Jason, not entirely sure what to expect, coughed and let Tim pull him off, coming onto his tongue instead of down his throat and Jason felt exalted, mouth open to take everything Tim had. Finally, his grip relaxed and Tim slumped back, beckoning for Jason with a dazed expression.

 

“Um,” Jason said, mouth still full, looking around before settling on the empty wine glass and spitting out Tim’s cum. Tim snorted, building into great guffaws of laughter and making Jason’s cheeks burn.

 

“I have never--ever--seen anyone do that,” he gasped, still laughing as he tugged Jason to lay down beside him.

 

“I didn’t want to swallow!” Jason said, like he needed to clarify. He snuffled a laugh in Tim’s armpit when he saw the wine glass on the coffee table. It was disgusting. It was hilarious. He felt amazing.

 

“That was incredible,” Tim said, echoing his thoughts. Jason peered up at him with his best doe eyes from his nest of Tim Drake pectorals and couch cushions.

 

“Did I do alright for my first time, then?”

 

Tim huffed out a laugh, covering his face with one hand. “I don’t think I’ve ever come that quickly.”

 

“Ah, ten out of ten,” Jason said, preening himself a little bit. Inexperience be damned. After a beat, when Tim didn’t respond, Jason glanced up from his nest of Tim Drake pectorals and couch cushions. Tim opened his eyes at him, blinking slowly before smiling and closing his eyes again with a nuzzle into Jason’s temple. “Eleven out of ten, then. Want to sleep over?”

 

“Mhm,” Tim hummed without opening his eyes.

 

“Go to my room, then. If you can get into my laptop, you can pick the movie.”

 

Tim’s eyes fluttered open instantly at the challenge. He rose, swaying towards the bedroom. “Okey dokey.”

 

Heart fluttering, Jason sorted out his kitchen, the cast iron, and his now debauched wine glass as quickly as possible before rushing into his bedroom, where Tim had predictably already gained clearance into his personal laptop. Without looking back up, Tim pointed to the door. “There’s still a third of a bottle of wine out there.”

 

Jason wheeled back around for the whine with a sleepy smirk. The opening credits of something were playing once he’d returned, and Tim was comically sprawled across his bed like a pin up. “I waited up for you, baby.”

 

Jason snorted, undressing and pulling a clean pair of briefs from his drawer. He wiggled into them, throwing a seductive look over his shoulder as he snapped the waistband, and Tim looked momentarily caught, like Jason hadn’t intended for him to watch. He took a swig straight from the bottle, one of his only two glasses thoroughly compromised anyway, and handed it to Tim before sorting out his covers.

 

“Is this a kissing movie?” Jason asked, recognizing the beginning immediately.

 

“What can I say? It’s been on my mind,” Tim said, snuggling in close with a smack to his cheek. Jason cupped his cheek, pulling him in for a true kiss before properly settling in. Tim made a very comfortable little spoon, as it turned out. His hair smelled like the familiar cologne, and lavender. By the time Wesley was leaving for the Dread Pirate Roberts, Tim was dozing off again, Jason not far behind.

 

He went over the night again in his mind, not wanting to forget a moment. How nervous he felt, Tim’s delight in his cooking (shoot, Tim had brought dessert, hadn’t he?), each kiss, each joke, each confession.

 

“Tim,” Jason murmured, rousing him.

 

“Hm?”

 

“Chief technological officer whatever…”

 

“Yeah?” Tim prodded sleepily.

 

“That’s a full time job, isn’t it?”

 

“Yeah,” Tim said with a sleepy snuffle.

 

Jason’s stomach pitched, and he pressed his palm flat to Tim’s chest, holding him closer. Sure, their lifestyle wasn’t sustainable, but wasn’t Tim a little young to be retiring? Bruce wasn’t even ready to put down the mantle.

 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Tim said softly.

 

For now, that would be answer enough, Jason thought, and followed Tim into dream land.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> knock knock?  
> whos there?  
> orange!  
> orange who?  
> orange you glad they finally touched bananas?!
> 
> sorry i havent replied to the last round of comments! i will tonight! but please know your suggestions are noted! some of you sneaky sneaks have already predicted what i had planned, and many of you are dying for something i was 100% going to avoid XD but fear not! the gala will be included and so will the batfam. as always, your comments fuel the fires of my castle and are much appreciated, i love you all and i will do my best not to keep these last few chapters too long! <3


	9. Cause I’m so into you

If there were ever a morning where Tim wasn’t woken abruptly by an alarming phone call, then it was a morning from a long, long time ago.

 

Jason was still heavily asleep, and Tim thought blearily that he was one lucky bastard to be such a heavy sleeper. He studied the caller I.D. and determined that no, this was one he couldn’t blow off.

 

“Hello?” he said, voice still tight and gruff from sleep.

 

“Everything alright, Tim?” Barbara asked. She sounded more amused than concerned, and Tim’s stomach lurched.

 

“Peachy,” he said suspiciously. Okay, Barbara was probably wise to where Tim was at this exact moment, and he probably should've seen it coming, but Tim could still deny what he never acknowledged, right? “We’re still on for tonight?”

 

“Depends. When do you plan on telling us that you’re seeing Jason?”

 

Well, there goes that plan. “Never.”

 

At least where it applied to Barbara.

 

“Tim.”

 

“When do _you_ plan on telling everyone?” Tim countered. Jason roused behind him and Tim brought a finger to his lips.

 

‘ _Speakerphone,_ ’ Jason mouthed fiercely. As deep a sleeper as Jason was, he seemed to have no problem switching back on. He looked better and more awake than Tim did after an hour and two cups of coffee. Tim begrudgingly obliged.

 

“I won’t have to,” Barbara replied, her projected voice too loud in the early morning silence. “I might have more eyes in the city than God, but you two haven’t exactly been subtle.”

 

“To be fair, I wasn’t going for subtlety,” Jason said, bumping his morning erection into Tim’s backside. Tim stifled a chuckle and lazily swatted a chastising hand in Jason’s direction.

 

“Mr. Todd,” Barbara cooed. “An infrequent pleasure.”

 

“Is that the name of your sex tape?”

 

“Charming as ever.”

 

“Tim seems to think so,” Jason said. Maybe it was the softness of the morning (and the hardness of other things) but it was true; Tim did find that obnoxiousness charming. Damn.

 

“Barbara, I hate to ask you to keep this a secret--” Tim started.

 

“Why? It’s what I do best.”

 

Jason and Tim exchanged little smiles, the tone relaxing at once.

 

“It’s just until--”

 

“Hold up. I didn’t say I would do it,” Barbara interrupted again. “You’re putting overtime in for me, Tim. And Jason, you owe me.”

 

“Fine,” Tim said, rolling his eyes. Then, belatedly. “Thank you.”

 

“Of course. See you later.”

 

“Bye.”

 

Tim tossed his phone onto the rug with a grumpy noise and burrowed back into the warmth of Jason’s shoulder, throwing a knee over his thigh. Jason’s arm came around him, holding him close, and this right here was too sweet, so much sweeter than Tim thought things would be with Jason.

 

“Overtime?” Jason asked. Tim didn’t crack an eye open, trying to preserve a last sleepy moment from before Barbara called.

 

“I’ve been upgrading some of her systems, learning others,” he said. Jason hummed thoughtfully, planting a kiss in Tim’s hair. He had questions about Tim’s future, Tim knew, and Tim knew that he wasn’t being the most forthcoming, but that was why he liked Jason. He was patient, didn’t press unless Tim was being a total ass, and it brought Tim peace after having to answer to everybody else in his life.

 

He did have to answer to them all eventually, though.

 

“What do you think about…” Tim twisted to look at Jason. “Coming to the gala with me?”

 

Jason actually jerked a little underneath him, though the surprise in his eyes was pleasantly light. 

 

“With you as in...there, or with you as in your date?” he asked finally.

 

“As in my date,” Tim said, running his hand through his bangs and betraying his nerves. “Here’s my thinking; if we just show up together, it’s entirely the wrong place for Bruce or Dick or whoever else might have a problem to freak out, right? And by the time they can, maybe they’ll just...be used to it.”

 

“Uh-huh. Never mind the fact that Jason Todd is technically dead?” Jason asked, though the corner of his mouth was trying to twitch into a smile.

 

“Any resemblance to a boy who died a decade ago is purely coincidental,” Tim said with a wave of his hand.  

 

“And never mind the fact that people will take issue with Wayne Tech’s new CEO being gay?”

 

“Bi. Who says they will?”

 

“What?”

 

“Who says they will?” Tim repeated, sitting up a bit. “I’ve been seen with men before and no one brought it up when they were considering hiring me. Probably because they’re hoping I’ll end up with a girl anyway, but that’s their problem.”

 

Jason snuffled out a laugh, giving Tim a look that said, _‘Okay, if you say so,’_.

 

“Are you worried about what they’ll say about you?” Tim asked. Again, Tim’s curiosity about Jason’s own security in himself crept back in.

 

“You know I’ve handled worse. I think I can handle people branding me a gay gold digger. Or whatever they’ll say,” Jason said.

 

“I hope they say that. Good alliteration sells papers,” Tim quipped. Alright, Jason was secure enough. Tim shouldn’t have expected so little, really. Maybe sexuality and romance was small potatoes compared to...well, literally everything else they’ve been through.

 

“I’m going to need a suit, aren’t I?” Jason asked. He sat up, reaching for his phone. “A nice one.”

 

“You’ll come?” Tim asked, sitting straight up. He thought the request was a long-shot.

 

“You sold me,” Jason shrugged. “And I bet the hors d'oeuvres will be amazing.”

 

“Don’t forget the open bar.”

 

“God bless,” Jason said, tapping something out on his phone. Tim waited patiently for Jason to finish, feeling like the moment just before the champagne cork pops, the sudden and intense bubbling of joy before _bam_!

 

“Tim!” Jason laughed as Tim straddled him the second he set his phone back down, peppering kisses on either side of Jason’s neck, cheeks, and finally smacking one right on his lips. “That excited to bare your personal life before the world, huh?”

 

“Fuckin’ hardly,” Tim chastised. Christ, he should’ve spent more of his life straddling Jason Todd’s lap. He rolled his hips, finally acknowledging the quiet arousal of early morning. “This is my dream job, and a big change for me. I’m happy you’ll be there, that I...won't have to face it all alone.”

 

“Tim,” Jason murmured. His thumbs settled into the crease of Tim’s hips, his grip firm as he arched up and kissed Tim deeply, a gesture full of intensity. Tim shivered. He rarely felt helpless, but the way Jason kissed him, like it was the only logical reply, had Tim completely at the mercy of his hands, his lips, his…

 

They’d only been doing this for a week, and it already felt like this.

 

“Jay,” Tim said, pulling away. He loved the way the syllable felt in his mouth, how the nickname made Jason visibly soften and relax. “Is this too fast? Too serious, too quickly?”

 

“What? Did you miss the last few years of pulling pigtails?” Jason said. Distracted by Jason's fingers along his sides, Tim was actually caught by surprise when Jason flipped him onto his back. He loomed over Tim with a half grin and a tell tale blush. “As far as I’m concerned, we’re right on track.”

 

Tim reached up and wound a hand through Jason’s bangs, pulling a little. Jason gave a moan of a laugh, his mouth twisting into a smirk that revealed his sharp little canines, and Tim pulled again, testing. He was sorry to see the smirk go, but the melted expression on Jason’s face was worth it. “Is that what we’re calling it, pulling pigtails?”

 

“Shush,” Jason whispered, leaning in for a kiss, tending to Tim’s lower lip with his own in a way that made Tim’s knees to numb. In the rare, early morning, Gotham sunlight, Jason glowed. They could be any two lovers in the world, here, happy, grounded, and real. Maybe, just maybe, the were any two lovers in the world. Regardless of who they were, what they’d done, when they were together, couldn’t they just….be?

 

“Earth to Tim,” Jason murmured, going for Tim’s neck. He arched, opening up the space for Jason’s warm mouth.

 

“Sorry,” he gasped. “Just thinking.”

 

“About?” Jason pressed his teeth into the tender skin, so softly that it could hardly be a bite; just delicious, aching pressure.

 

“About this…” Tim rolled his shoulder, coaxing Jason’s face back up. He stroked a thumb over the five o’clock shadow of Jason’s jaw. “Stubble, right there. It’s ginger.”

 

Jason ducked his head, pulling at the part of his hair to bare it for Tim. “It’s dyed.”

 

“What?!” Tim craned his head, and sure enough, there was a sliver of auburn where Jason’s true roots showed.

 

“Why are you so shocked? You’ve seen my pubes.” Jason rubbed his thumb over the spot be made last night on Tim’s pec. It was already healing, not as colored as Tim remembered, but it still twinged like a bruise.

 

“I was focused on something else at the time,” Tim said, punctuating it with an upward thrust of his hips. He could feel Jason’s own hardness, the thin cotton of their boxers and sleep pants doing little to hide either. Jason’s fingers wandered from the hickey to Tim’s nipple, giving it a little pinch that made Tim buck and pull Jason’s hand away. “I don’t--I’m sorry, I just don’t like it.”

 

“Oh,” Jason said, looking a little chastened and sitting up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know…”

 

“I know, that’s why I told you. It’s okay, come back here,” Tim said, leaning up to meet Jason. He let his hands wander, running up Jason’s thighs, his chest, and finally burying in Jason’s hair as his tongue coaxed its way into Jason’s mouth with suggestive motions. Jason gave a sigh of a moan, his kiss becoming more fervent. Tim peeked at the clock; he had plenty of time before his fitting, enough for…anything. Whatever Jason wanted. If only he could gather his senses enough to ask. He stroked his thumbs along the creases of Jason’s thighs and hips, smiling as Jason moaned into the kiss. It was delicious, knowing he could make Jason feel good.

 

“Do you wanna…” Tim began. Jason’s eyes were heavier and darker than they were just a moment ago, and his stare was intense.

 

“Fuck?” Jason suggested, arching a brow. Tim slid his hands around to Jason’s backside, squeezing. Jason shuddered, arching into Tim’s hands, then rolling his hips into Tim’s.

 

“Yeah?” Tim asked.

 

“Yeah. Give me a minute,” Jason said with a smile like a child who just got news of a snow day, and lurched towards the bathroom. Tim tried not to laugh, and failed, crashing back into the many, many pillows on Jason’s bed.

 

He was going to fuck Jason Todd.

 

He was going. To fuck. _Jason_.

 

Tim tore off his pants and closed a hand around himself, just squeezing, trying not to overthink. A few minutes passed before Jason came bounding back into the room with a bottle of lube and a condom in each hand, and not a single item of clothing. Tim’s eyes widened; he’d seen Jason in different states of nudity, but this was somehow...different, to see him standing before Tim, completely bare, and ready for what they were about to do. Jason seemed to feel similarly about Tim’s state, as he froze before the bed, drinking Tim in.

 

“Little bird,” Jason breathed, closing the distance between him and straddling Tim’s body once more. He kissed him once, fiercely, before pressing the lube into Tim’s hand.

 

“How do you want to…?” Tim asked, and it was too long before Jason replied, betraying a truth behind the statement.

 

“On--I guess, um, on top,” Jason said at last, and Tim knew that his instinct on this was right after all; Jason may have been with men before, but not like this. Not this way. He wasn’t going to fuck it up.

 

“‘Kay,” Tim said softly, popping the cap and slicking up his fingers. He had to shimmy further down Jason’s body to reach his hole, and he hated that he was too short to reach and kiss Jason at the same time, but his neck was bared for him and that would have to do. He kissed him there, slowly, nuzzling, as he nudged a finger between Jason’s cheeks, just spreading the lube. Jason sagged a little, exhaling softly.

 

“I’ve thought about this,” he breathed. Tim’s cock jumped at the admission, and he dipped his finger just slightly in to the pucker of Jason’s hole. Jason whined, still breathy and soft, like he was unsure about the sensation.

 

“This?” Tim asked, thrusting his finger minutely, staying within the first tight half-inch of muscle. Jason’s body curled in closer to Tim’s, radiating heat, and Tim could reach up to kiss his jaw, now, if he wanted. He did.

 

“Yeah,” Jason said, leaning into the kiss. “I like your hands.”

 

Tim hummed in reply, nipping Jason’s neck in self-satisfied reply. Jason’s breath caught. “Deeper,” he asked. “You don’t have to go so slow.”

 

Wordlessly, Tim pressed his middle finger in entirely, moaning at the inescapably tight squeeze of Jason’s body. “Fuck.”

 

“Yeah,” Jason said, his voice perilously close to a whine. “God, your fingers are long.”

 

Man, he really had thought about this, Tim thought as his cock throbbed. He twisted his finger in and out, noting when the tension started to lessen before probing deeper for Jason’s sweet spot. He knew he found it when Jason shuddered and bucked his hips down on Tim’s hand. He tapped the pad of his finger against it in a slow motion, reaching to cup Jason’s balls in his other hand, pressing. Jason keened, hips jerking hard.

 

“Tim,” he gasped. “Fuck. That’s--”

 

He groaned, more of a growl, really, and Tim knew he was a goner. He wanted to make Jason feel like this forever, until he trembled and couldn’t take it anymore, but Tim didn’t think he was going to last nearly that long. Not this time, anyway.

 

“Breathe, Jay,” Tim said, his voice coming out in a deep whisper, before slipping another finger in alongside the first. There was the tension, again, so tight Tim wasn’t sure Jason could take it, but then he heard him exhale deeply and his hole gave just a bit more. Tim fucked them in and out, slowly at first, building up to a more rhythmic pace. “Good?”

 

“Tim, please,” Jason moaned, and it wasn’t really an answer, but it was perfect all the same. Tim pulled his fingers out, slowly, then shimmed back up. Jason’s hands were in his hair in an instant, dragging him in for a kiss. Oh-- _oh_ , that was different, Jason’s mouth so slack and hungry. Tim moaned, fucking into his mouth with his tongue.

 

Tim was hoping Jason would want to do it like this. Sure, missionary was intimate, and from behind was often easier, but this? This way, he could watch Jason. Watch Jason watching him as he slid the condom over Tim’s cock with care, watch Jason’s eyes hood as he slicked up his cock for him. As Tim took Jason’s hand when he glanced at him with uncertainty and positioned himself over Tim’s cock. Watch as the last of Jason’s apprehension bled from his face when Tim’s cock finally, at least breached his hole.

 

“Doing so good,” Tim praised, squeezing Jason’s hand, and Jason sank the rest of the way down with a sharp moan. His hips canted back and forth, stretching himself further on Tim’s cock. Tim groaned. “That’s it.”

 

“Stop talking like that or it’ll be over before we start,” Jason said with a breathless laugh. There was color high in his cheeks, and Tim made a note that next time, he won’t stop talking, not until Jason comes untouched on his cock. But that’s next time. His hand was still slick from before, so Tim took Jason’s cock in his hand, just holding firm so Jason fucked into his fist every time he moved on his cock. “Oh, god. Tim.”

 

Jason’s eyes fluttered shut, and he started to move faster, each thrust punctuated with moans ever increasing in pitch. Tim felt him clenching around him, and he knew he couldn’t hold on much longer. His hips bucked, meeting Jason’s, and Jason keened, falling forward. Tim didn’t let up until Jason’s cock jerked in his hand and he was coming, shooting high and hot over Tim’s chest and Tim could feel him coming around his cock, his hole fluttering and clenching and Tim came, too, with a cry of, “ _Jay._ ”

 

Tim’s arms came around Jason as he slumped forward, hips still rolling with the aftershock as they groaned through the last of it. Tim pressed kisses to Jason’s temple until he lifted his head for a proper one, this one painstakingly slow. When they broke apart, Jason was still panting, and he pulled off of Tim’s cock with an exhausted groan. He collapsed in the crook of Tim’s arm, still breathless.

 

“Jason,” Tim murmured, curling around him. It was sort of awkward, holding someone so much bigger, but it never bugged Tim. He loved holding Jason, keeping him close; especially now, with Jason so lax and nuzzling into his skin with kisses. “You good?”

 

“So good,” Jason groaned. “Just give me like, twenty minutes, and I’ll get you a towel.”

 

Tim chuckled and gingerly pulled off the condom. “I got it.”

 

It pained him to leave bed, but prophylactic disposal and clean up only took all of two minutes, with another to stop in the kitchen for water.

 

“Goddamn,” Tim muttered to himself, leaning against the cool of the fridge as his glass filled. He was aware that he was grinning, manically and ridiculously. He was happy and Jason was waiting for him and he wouldn’t have to go to the gala alone. Not even the inkling in the back of his brain telling him that Jason almost died twelve some hours ago and he was going to feel the fallout of this emotional whiplash any minute now could dampen his high.

 

Jason was sprawled belly down across the bed when he returned, one arm dangling over the edge of the bed as he peered down at his cell. “Looks like I’ll be getting my suit today, too.”

 

He threw a glance over his shoulder and wiggled his ass at Tim. “Round two?”

 

Tim’s heart hammered, and his cock gave a valiant pulse as his gaze went hungrily over Jason’s body, head to toe. The ruffled hair, the strong muscles of his back, the delicate dip of his waist, the utterly visceral thickness of his ass and thighs. Even his feet, the soles slim and surprisingly soft looking. And Jason’s stare, hopeful and as blissed out as Tim felt. Yeah, he could do round two.  

 

“Hell, yeah.”

 

* * *

 

“Would you care for some champagne while you wait, Mr. Wayne?”

 

Tim startled out of his revery by the wall of shoes. They were the reason Armani smelled so strongly of leather, and the reason for Tim’s wanderings. Leather smelled like Jason (really, it was the other way around, but for Tim, it was leather that smelled like Jason.).

 

“It’s Mr. Drake-Wayne. Yes, please,” Tim said, knowing a cocktail would greatly improve this experience. Half the reason he’d wandered over here was because of Damian’s tetchiness. “Do you carry leather jackets?”

 

Jason’s last one had been lost when Sammy Garrett kidnapped him. Tim tried to keep that fury under wraps, and if he blew an obscene amount of money on a new jacket for Jason to cope with that, so be it.

 

“Yes, we have several. I’d be happy to show you our selection while Mr. Wayne’s in his fitting,” the attendant said, leading him to another section of the store. “Are you looking for something sporty, casual? We have a bomber style that would suit you well, sir.”

 

“Actually, it’s for a...friend,” Tim said, stumbling over the word. _Boyfriend_ , _you fucking coward, Jason is your boyfriend_. Tim eyed the attendant a little more critically, and figured it was a safe bet that the attendant at a high fashion house would at least be more open minded than someone anywhere else. “For my boyfriend. Anything like a biker jacket?”

 

“Absolutely,” the attendant said brightly. He circled the room, pulling a black jacket and presenting it for Tim. “This is a plongé, lambskin nappa leather that has been naturally tanned. That’s what makes it so soft. Boyfriend material, you could say.”

 

Tim chuckled absently, running his hands over the buttery lapels. It was beautiful, would mold to Jason perfectly and only improve with age and wear. He could picture Jason easily in this. “It’s perfect.”

 

“Excellent, Mr. Drake-Wayne,” the attendant said.

 

“What are you doing? We are here for suits, not a shopping spree.”

 

Tim rolled his eyes, taking a sip of the champagne before turning towards Damian. “One extra item isn’t a shopping spree.”

 

Damian stood with his arms crossed. The tailor had followed him out, looking frazzled. “Mr. Wayne, please, you shouldn’t walk around with pins. You’ll stab yourself.”

 

Damian scoffed. “That is highly unlikely. In any case, this won’t do at all. Please pull another, _without_ pinstripes this time.”

 

Tim chuckled; the kid had a point on that one. The pinstriped suit, while very fine, sort of gave Damian a mob boss look.

 

“Sir, what style of suit would you be looking for today?”

 

“Black,” Tim said simply. He liked Armani well enough, sure, but they weren’t his first choice. For one, they were austere, more well suited for meetings with his superiors and his board, not a gala, but Bruce insisted that the more serious Tim looked, the more seriously he would be taken. The logic wasn’t flawed, of course, but if Tim was dropping several thousands of dollars on a suit, it ought to be a suit he actually liked. “Fit is more important.”

 

“Yes, I see,” the attendant said, looking Tim up and down. “Yes, your frame can easily be overwhelmed. I think I have just the thing.”

 

In the end, Tim left with an impeccably tailored suit that he had to admit looked very good, even if it was boring. Maybe he could get some leeway on the tie or something. But the jacket, he pulled out to admire once more while they were driven back to the manor. It was a thing of true beauty. Tim couldn’t even be sure why he got it, other than the fact that Jason needed a new one, and deserved a nice one.

 

“That thing will be massive on you,” Damian criticized, but he was too caught up in his cell phone to seem to give the jacket any more thought. Tim was relieved, but only for a moment.

 

Everyone would know soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOOO BUDDY! bet you thought i was never gonna update...well, we're in the home stretch now. i'm in a bit of a rough period, with my current job yanking my balls and about to quit that for a new, better job in the new year. so i'm frazzled, to say the least! but we only have one more chapter left and i will do everything i can to have it out by the new year, with an illustration to cap it off. 
> 
> in other news, tumblr is balls, it was balls before this mess and will forever be balls, so i made a twitter! you can come chat with me any time at [skaterboitim](https://twitter.com/skaterboitim).
> 
> thank you all for your lovely, lovely support! your comments mean absolutely everything to me. they are the candy cane in my hot chocolate, the baileys in my coffee, the lights on my christmas tree...etc, etc, etc. i look forward to hearing your thoughts on this new chapter, considering the big leaps these boys took today ;D til next time! <3


	10. all for freedom, and for pleasure

Stephanie whistled when Jason came stumbling through her door, garment bag in one hand and a drink carrier bearing lattes in another.

 

“Look who’s bougie today,” she teased, taking the lattes from his hand and lifting them to her nose for a deep inhale. Jason cocked his hip and rolled his eyes, slinging the garment bag holding his new suit over the couch arm.

 

“Everyone drinks lattes. They’re not bougie.”

 

“I was talking about the jacket,” she said wondrously. “That is _not_ second hand, or covered in grease. Or blood. When’d you get that?”

 

“It was a gift,” Jason said, cheeks warming. It was waiting for him on his bed when he got off patrol last night. There was no note, but it didn’t take a detective to determine that Tim must have picked it up when he was at Armani. His last one, likely left on Sammy’s sinking boat, was indeed from the bargain bin and covered in more than just grease and blood.

 

Jason didn’t know how much it cost and he didn’t want to know. It fit him like a glove and made him feel like a million dollars and it was from _Tim_.

 

“Lucky sugar baby,” Stephanie pouted. It quickly transformed into a glare as Jason barked out a laugh. God, if only she knew. Jason shook his head, mostly to himself. He wasn’t going to get a better chance than this.

 

“That’s sort of why I wanted to talk to you.”

 

The more Jason thought of it, the more he felt that of the family, Stephanie should hear it first from one of them. And seeing as how Tim was taking the most roundabout way possible, Jason decided the duty would be his. His reasoning was half selfish, anyway. Few people knew Tim better than Stephanie, or would know more about dating Tim Drake-Wayne.

 

“Spit it out, then,” Stephanie said impatiently, and Jason realized he’d taken too long justifying in his head what he was about to do.

 

“I’m going to the W.E. gala this weekend,” Jason said. That was a safe place to start, right?

 

“Okay,” Stephanie said slowly. “That’ll be awkward, but I’m sure most people will be glad you came. Something tells me there’s something else, or you wouldn’t be white knuckling your cup.”

 

She arched a brow at his hand, where the lid had popped off and foam was running down his fingers. He put the cup down and wiped his hands on his jeans. It had just occurred to him that he was so worried about Stephanie being mad about being kept in the dark that he hadn’t considered that she might be mad about the relationship, period. And Jason really, really didn’t want to get into a fight with Stephanie. She fought as dirty as he did, mad or not.

 

“Tim invited me.” Was his throat closing up? He thought it probably was. Maybe he’ll die before he could get it out and he won’t have to bother telling her at all.

 

“Really? He said you were working cases together. I didn’t know you were friends.”

 

She was needling him. Dread washed over him, realizing that Stephanie already knew there was something that Tim wasn’t telling her, and she was about to get it from Jason. Her expression, while careful, was full of thirsty glee.

 

“We are. Really good friends.”

 

Stephanie leaned in, chin on her first. Going in for the kill.

 

“How good, Jason?”

 

Jason gulped cartoonishly. “Real good?”

 

She scowled, unamused to the extreme. For a long moment, she just stared into Jason’s eyes, unmoving. Jason swore an actual drop of sweat made its way down his temple. She was going to crack him.

 

“It sort of just happened--”

 

“I fucking knew it!” Stephanie roared, leaping up and whacking Jason on the shoulder. He braced, laughing helplessly. “I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!”

 

She dropped back into her chair with a put on sigh of exasperation. “That asshole, I knew he was seeing someone. He refused to tell me. Why, Steph, why can’t I have this one secret? I tell you everything, Steph, just trust me. That fucking jerk. I knew, I _knew_ it had to be someone I knew for him to be hiding it. Ooh, this is just---”

 

She clenched a fist, hammering it lightly on the table. Jason didn’t know if he should be scared or laughing. “Too good. I mean, I’m happy for you and all that, yadda, yadda, but he is never going to live this down.”

 

Her voice had gone up sharply in pitch, grinning maniacally. Jason was both scared and laughing, it seemed.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Oh, he’s always had the hots for you. I mean, he would never admit it, but you always got under his skin,” Stephanie said with a sip of her coffee. Jason imitated her, giving himself a moment of self satisfaction just between him and his latte.

 

“For better or for worse,” he added afterwards.

 

“Then I probably don’t have to give you a shovel talk,” she said contentedly. “You know what would happen.”

 

“Yeah,” Jason said, chewing his lip. If he ever broke Tim’s heart, it wasn’t a matter of if he would die, but by whose hand. If anyone could beat Tim to the punch himself, anyway.

 

So, he just wouldn’t break his heart. Easy as that.

 

* * *

 

 

“What are we looking for, exactly?” Tim asked, peering down the manhole. Ever the intrepid detective, he was thrilled to help out on something truly weird, but that didn’t mean he was falling all over himself to drop into a sewer.

 

Dick Grayson had no such reservations, apparently. His voice echoed metallically from below. “Something big, and probably amphibious, given where it’s been lurking.”

 

“Ugh. Where’d it come from?” Tim hopped in after Dick. His mask automatically adjusted his vision for the low light, but it could do nothing for the smell. Rotting fish and sewage like only Gotham could cook up; suddenly, Tim dreaded meeting whatever could thrive down here.

 

“We have no idea,” Dick said, though the fact didn’t seem to bother him at all. He seemed thrilled, actually. Tim loved Dick, but their ideas of what made for an exciting case were way different. Few Robins spent more time getting their ass kicked by cryptids and monsters than Tim did, and it Tim dreaded repeating the trend. “Oracle’s been digging around for anyone or any lab that could’ve spawned it, but it’s looking like it came from outside Gotham.”

 

“Swam in from the bay,” Tim pondered. Fucking lovely.

 

“Yeah,” Dick agreed. “Anyway, it’s attacked three people already and the only thing any of the victims agreed on was that it left behind this.”

 

He tossed Tim a vial. Tim turned it, watching a thick, putrid sludge stick to the glass. “Let’s get going, then.”

 

Dick leaped across the channel of sewage to pace the other side. They headed inland, the direction the attacks were spreading, Tim on one side of the channel and Dick on the other.

 

“How’s the Wayne Tech gig going?” Dick asked after a quarter mile or so.

 

“Good,” Tim said. He nudged a pile of something with his boot. Just trash, rotted beyond recognition. “I don’t take full responsibility until after the gala, so I’m mostly learning all I can about the departments and the people under me.”

 

“Has Damian given you any trouble?”

 

“No more than usual, why?”

 

“No reason,” Dick said, with a leading tone to his voice. Tim chucked a disk his way, pouting when Dick ducked and the disk harmlessly struck the sewer wall. “Ok, ok! He’s just bitter that Bruce hired you. I’d watch your back.”

 

“Bitter? I’m so shocked,” Tim chuckled. He always did watch his back where Damian was concerned, but he knew that the tween would get over it. Tim had no interest in taking the full corporation under his wing, and Damian had no interest in heading the technological division, so their interests didn’t actually intersect all that much. The brat would learn that quickly enough.

 

Tim realized he hadn’t heard Dick’s steps in a minute or so. When he glanced behind him, Dick was kneeling in an alcove. “Got something?”

 

“Maybe. Looks like a slick trail. Like a snail.”

 

“Be on guard, then,” Tim said. They could be close.

 

They walked another quarter mile or so before finding another trace, this time a large rat covered in the same sludge Dick had recovered. Tim turned it over with the tip of his staff. “Looks partially digested.”

 

Dick gagged and withdrew his escrima sticks. They forged ahead, this time perhaps only a hundred feet, when Tim’s earpiece crackled to life.

 

“You’re in Hood territory, little bird,” Jason said, his silvery voice just clear enough through the weak connection. Admittedly, it was a comfort to hear his voice while traversing this hell.

 

“Underneath it, actually,” Tim said in a low voice, but it still carried, bouncing off the vile water and sewer walls.

 

“Underneath what?” Dick called.

 

“Uh--it’s Jason,” Tim said, motioning to his ear. “I guess we’ve wandered into his patrol, he was just wondering what’s up.”

 

“Smooth,” Jason said drily.

 

“Does he want to help? We might actually need a gun on this one…” Dick had paused, eyes on the ceiling. Tim followed his gaze from the inch thick layer of sludge on the walls, to the dripping pod hanging from above. Tim gulped.

 

They looked like eggs. Dozens and dozens of eggs, each the size of a softball.

 

“Jay, can you get down here?” Tim asked in a single rush of breath.

 

“Jay?” Dick asked incredulously, his mask twisting quizzically. Tim barely had time to make a save before a hissing shriek pierced the air, bouncing off the sewer walls and blocking out Jason’s reply. Something has risen out of the water, detritus clinging to its slimy form. It resembled a catfish and a slug, forged in hell and left to rot in Gotham’s underbelly.

 

Tim skittered back, whipping a few explosives at the creature. They sank into its flesh before bursting apart in a shower of goo that Tim only just blocked with a quick throw of his cape. It still advanced, sludge pouring from the gashes.

 

“Is this what you were expecting?” Tim yelled, backing up carefully.

 

“No,” Dick said. The slightly amused air that was always present in Dick’s voice was thin. “Ideas?”

 

“Kinda,” Tim said, scanning the area. There was little in the way of cover, but they were decently close to the nearest manhole. Tim backed up slowly, pulling out his grapple. “How far out are you, Hood?”

 

“Any second, Red,” Jason said.

 

Perfect. Tim took aim for the catfish-slug’s mouth and fired. The monster squealed, but didn’t appear to realize it’d been hooked. Tim scrambled up the manhole ladder and wired the grapple gun to the grate; there was no way in hell he was going to let this thing get away to wreak even more havoc. He could hear the roar of a motorbike passing overhead, and he grinned. He dropped below just as Dick fired off a few more explosive wingdings. Tim expanded his staff.

 

“Red Hood, you’re going to drop down on the opposite side of this thing. We don’t have enough firepower to take it down, so just tell us when to duck.”

 

“Oh, I have to do everything for you, huh?”

 

Light appeared behind the creature, who in that moment, seemed to have realized it was tethered. It reared and hissed, advancing. It reached the limits of the line, screaming in rage. Tim’s heart shuddered.

 

“Hood--”

 

“Duck.”

 

Dick and Tim dropped to the sewer floor just before Jason lit up the sewer, bullets and gooing flesh raining down. The creature collapsed into the putrid water. Dick cried out in disgust as the water rose with the displacement and soaked them both, but Tim scrambled up and across the sewer towards where Jason stood, glocks still smoking.

 

Jason started, a hand up. “No--”

 

Tim skittered to a stop just as the creature’s head rose from the water, hissing and seething. Tim backed up against the sewer wall, but it only took an instant for one bleeding whisker to lash itself around Tim’s ankle. He only had an instant to think before being pulled under, head hitting the edge of the walkway on his way down. He thought he could hear Dick and Jason above, but mostly, inevitably, all Tim knew after that was darkness.

 

* * *

 

 

“No!” Dick roared. Jason readied his pistol, but the channel was just an inky black void; he was just as likely to hit Tim as the creature. With how many bullets Jason blasted into the thing, it had to be dying, but not before taking Tim down with it.

 

“Do you have a rebreather?” Jason asked. There was only one way they were getting him back alive. Dick nodded tersely, handing him the small device.

 

“You won’t have long before that water gunks it up,” Dick advised.

 

“More time than I’d have without it, though.” He scanned the water, spotting the thin black line leading into it that, miraculously, had held strong. He switched on the infrared in his mask, passed off his guns to Dick, and dove.

 

The creature was still, three times as large as it appeared from the surface and almost cleaved in two, Tim in its dying grip. He, too, was still. Jason pushed past refuse and chunks of the creature’s flesh, the seconds too long, and grabbed Tim before swimming like hell for the surface.

 

“Tim,” Dick sighed in relief, and damn it if Jason didn’t know him well enough to hear how perilously close he was to crying. He helped heave Tim up onto the walkway, Jason hauling himself up after him. Tim was out cold, mask askew and face ashen. Jason brought his cheek to his mouth, praying for breath that didn’t come.

 

“Come on, come on,” Jason begged, starting compressions on Tim’s chest. The feeling of Tim’s ribs giving under his fist made his stomach turn, but if it would save Tim’s life, he would do it as long as it took. Dick cradled Tim’s head, opening up his airway. Still, nothing. How long was he under, how long did it take Jason to pull him out? Jason leaned down to give him breath, and Tim’s lifeless lips against his were more gut wrenching than the crack of his ribs.

 

As often as he’d done this, trained for this, he never felt prepared to make someone’s heart beat, to give them breath, to save their life. Nothing Bruce did could prepare them for that burden, and little could prepare them for what would happen if it was in vain. Jason’s eyes felt hot, swimming behind the mask. Another two breaths. Tim was so still.

 

Then, on the sixth subsequent compression, Tim coughed, turning over to vomit sewer water. He gasped for air, gasping in pain for his bruised ribs as he slumped weakly over the cement. Jason reached for his hand, just squeezing until Tim’s gasps evened out and he was able to pull himself up into a seated position with Jason’s grip. Dick immediately pulled Tim into a ginger embrace, though Tim didn’t release Jason’s hand. He squeezed back, weakly.

 

“I’m taking you home,” Jason said fiercely, before Dick could beat him to it. He thought he caught Tim rolling his eyes, fondly, maybe. Dick was nodding.

 

“I can finish up here,” Dick said, helping Tim up. He cupped Tim’s cheeks in both hands before kissing his forehead. “That was too close. Go with Jason, okay?”

 

Like Tim needed to be told twice, Jason thought. Tim swayed precariously as they made their way towards the ladder. Jason went first, making sure Tim was steady enough on his feet to follow before pulling him up through the manhole. When they reached Jason’s bike, Tim glanced around, eyes tired but wary, and reached absently towards his torn mask.

 

“Wear my helmet,” Jason suggested, gently pulling the domino away. Tim just nodded, curiously quiet. He drew his thumb over Tim’s cheek, glad to see his eyes soften at the gesture.

 

He was still in there. Jason knew the feeling, of coming close to death, and the difficulty of returning to normal. He didn’t know what Tim needed, but he would be there.

 

“I’m taking you to the manor, okay?” Tim’s brow knitted in concern and confusion.

 

“But you never--”

 

“I do sometimes. When necessary,” Jason interrupted, refusing to let Tim be concerned for him. “B has better detox protocols than either of us.”

 

Tim nodded again, pulling on the helmet. “I want a shower.”

 

Jason chuckled. Good; a place to start. “Ditto that.”

 

* * *

 

 

It took the last of Tim’s strength not to nod off on the ride to the manor. His head pounded, his chest ached, and between the rumble of Jason’s bike and the warmth of Jason himself, Tim wanted nothing more than to succumb to what he was entirely positive was a concussion. But he made it, if only barely.

 

He felt like a zombie as he made his way to the showers, stripping as he went, but he didn’t make it very far. He hissed in pain as he tried to pull off his suit. Jason must have anticipated the trouble, because he was right there, undressing Tim gently. It made Tim feel like a little kid again. For some reason, he thought of his mother, wrapping him up tightly in a towel after a bath or the pool, how warm that embrace was.

 

“Tim,” Jason said softly, reaching for him to follow. He had already started running the water. Tim followed, smiling softly. His legs trembled and his vision was swimming, but Jason was here. He wouldn’t let Tim fall, would he?

 

“Of course not,” Jason said, and Tim realized he uttered it aloud. “No need for a second concussion tonight.”

 

He ushered Tim to sit on the shower bench before soaping up Tim’s hair with the harsh concoction kept just for this purpose, capable of washing out any and all of Gotham's worst. He rubbed him down, smiling when Tim giggled helplessly as Jason washed his feet for good measure.

 

“You are _so_ smitten,” Tim teased, poking him in the chest with his toe. The effort made him tip, and Jason was quick to catch him.

 

“Rinse,” he said simply, pulling Tim under the stream of water. It was blessedly hot, and more importantly, clean. Working the soap out of his hair helped to clear his head, while Jason rinsed his body with steady hands. The water ran clear at last, save for the rivulets of muddy water streaming from underneath Jason’s boots.

 

“You’re still dressed,” Tim remarked dumbly.

 

“Not for long,” Jason said, wrapping Tim in a towel and walking him to a cot. Tim felt a little steadier now, the water having a cleansing effect in more ways than one. “I’ll be fast, Alf.”

 

Tim whipped around, spotting Alfred in the doorway. He must have heard them come in, or maybe Jason called without Tim’s notice. Either way, it was a relief to see the older gentleman. He collapsed onto a cot, still dripping.

 

“What happened, precisely?” Alfred asked, offering Tim an additional towel for his hair. If he took issue with Jason taking him into the shower, Tim didn't notice and Alfred kept it to himself. Tim took to scrubbing his hair dry, wincing at the goose egg on the back of his head.

 

“Dick wanted my help finding some monster in the sewers,” Tim groused. “We found it, and I’m never helping him again.”

 

“Ah,” Alfred said delicately. “And your head?”

 

“Will be fine,” Tim insisted, then paused. “But the thing dragged me into the sewer water, so a course of antibiotics probably wouldn’t be a bad idea. For Jason, too.”

 

“Nevertheless, I would be happier if you also took some ice to your head, Master Tim.”

 

Tim grumbled an assent and wrapped the towel around himself, growing cold. “Clothes first?”

 

“Of course,” Alfred said. “I will bring down a set for you both.”

 

Jason returned just as Alfred went upstairs, skin pink from the hot water. He looked apprehensive, now that Tim was more collected and they were both alone. It made Tim ache a little, seeing the worry on Jason’s face. Perhaps it was just from being here, in the cave, the manor looming above.

 

“I don’t think Bruce is here,” Tim assured him, making space on the cot. “Dick might’ve called him for help clearing out the sewer.”

 

“Oh. Right,” Jason said, taking a seat, still unreadable. He reached for Tim, cradling the back of his head in his palm. The touch and slight pressure felt soothing, and Tim closed his eyes. Jason gently felt the bump, but it still felt raw and was getting worse as adrenaline bled away. Tim winced, just before feeling Jason’s lips against his, fleeting and warm.

 

“There’s cameras,” Tim murmured. Jason shook his head, bringing his forehead to Tim’s. His fingers tensed in Tim’s hair, relaxing and tensing again. He kissed him again, insistent, and Tim melted into it.

 

“I don’t care. You scared the shit out of me,” Jason grumbled between feathery kisses.

 

“I suppose that makes us even, then,” Tim said, trying for levity, though if he got any more lightheaded at the moment, he might actually float away. Jason shook his head a little.

 

“No, I mean…” Jason sighed, pulling Tim in closer and burying his head into his neck. Tim went easily, cradled in the warmth of Jason’s skin. He remained quiet, giving Jason the time to collect his thoughts. When he finally did, after a long beat, he spoke the words in Tim’s ear, just for him. “I couldn’t stand it if you left this world without knowing how much I care about you.”

 

Tim heart stuttered, and it was all he could do to just hang on, breathe, hang on, breathe. He felt his eyes grow hot, and when he spoke, the words came out thick. “I won’t.”

 

Jason kissed his cheek as he pulled away. The tears spilled over. Tim brushed them away, laughing at himself.

 

“Stop. You’ll make me cry, too,” Jason chuckled, sweeping the tears running down Tim’s cheeks away with his thumbs. He did look misty eyed, too.

 

“I have a concussion, what’s your excuse?” Tim teased pitifully. He sniffed. Breathed. His body felt lighter; his heart felt weightless. It made it easier to scrape up the courage he needed for what came next. “Jason, I’m falling for you. I was falling for you even before you left for Florida.”

 

Absurdly, he felt like apologizing, but he bit it back. He was not going to apologize for the strength of his feelings, or for waiting so long to voice them. Surely, if experience had taught him anything, it was that good timing was a fool’s errand and that anything got said at all was something to be thankful for.

 

Jason’s mouth twisted, eyes flicking upward for a seemingly-disbelieving moment before a smile brightened his face, helpless and joyous. Tim couldn’t help but mirror it, surging forward to kiss Jason. Jason was murmuring his name between grinning kisses, until Tim had to pull away, breathless and dizzy.

 

“Alfred’s going to be back any second,” Jason said. “Make yourself decent, or he’ll kick me out for distressing his patient.”

 

He rubbed at Tim’s face with his spare towel, smirking good-naturedly. Tim chuckled, letting Jason scrub away the tears and the runny nose. “By the way….Stephanie knows now.”

 

Tim snatched the towel from Jason’s grip, whipping it away from his face. “What?!”

 

“Master Jason, if you insist on antagonizing my patient, I will insist that you leave,” Alfred interrupted from the doorway. His smile was placid, yet knowing. Barbara was right; they were not good at being subtle.

 

“Aw, Alf, we were just----you see--” Jason sputtered, clearly going for playing it cool and failing spectacularly. Tim could only imagine too well how many times Jason failed to play it cool in front of Alfred as a teenager, and couldn’t school his face this time. He burst into peals of laughter. But the laughter made his head pound, and his ribs spasm, and he collapsed back onto the cot, clutching his head. Jason could deal with this one. He _better_ deal with this one, because Tim was sick of pinging around his emotional and physical spectra like a ricocheted bullet, and did not have the capacity for conversation anymore.

 

“An explanation is not necessary, Master Todd. It would, however, be appreciated,” Alfred said with calculated kindness. He set down his tray, which bore steaming sandwiches, an ice pack, tea, water, and two paper cups of medication. Jason handed Tim the ice pack, then the pills, standing by with a water.

 

Stalling.

 

Tim narrowed his eyes at him, putting on the pressure. If they were in a cartoon, Tim could’ve heard an audible gulp from Jason.

 

“I don’t know what to tell you. We started working on cases together in the summer and realized we get along pretty well and it just. Er. Sort of….went on from there,” Jason said lamely. Tim rolled his eyes.

 

“Way to make it sound romantic,” he quipped before gulping down the antibiotics.

 

“It was romantic,” Jason defended, and then, blessedly, blushed. Tim chuckled.

 

“It was,” Jason clarified to Alfred. “I’m sorry, Alf.”

 

Alfred was quiet, taking the little paper cup from Tim and handing Jason his own. Tim dug into his sandwich--a Reuben, with thickly cut pastrami and Alfred’s homemade sauerkraut. Tim had never loved a sandwich more in his life, realizing he was starving, and wanting to get food into his stomach after taking medication. Definitely not so he could avoid participating in this conversation, no.

 

“I do not want you to apologize,” Alfred said at last. “I trust you both, and your decisions. But I understand your fears, and I am sorry that your fears regarded me as well.”

 

Tim’s stomach pitched for just a moment. Wow, Alfred could really lay the guilt on.

 

“We wanted to make sure this was...the right decision, before we told anyone. We will tell everyone,” Tim said diplomatically. Alfred gave him a soft smile.

 

“Wonderful. Then I will not interfere,” Alfred said, with a raised brow that plainly implied, ‘for now,’. Jason murmured a thank you and reached for his sandwich. Alfred turned, but before passing, rested a hand on Jason’s shoulder and gave him a grandfatherly look, firmly kind and slightly withering. Jason bristled like an embarrassed teenager, and still appeared to be floundering long after Alfred had shut the door behind him.

 

“I guess that could’ve gone….worse?” Jason hazarded.

 

“It hardly could’ve gone better,” Tim said mildly. If Jason thought he was off the hook, he had another thing coming. And Stephanie, for that matter; if Jason spilled the beans to her, shouldn’t Tim have heard from her himself by now? “So. Where were we?”

 

“She guessed,” Jason spurted out as he was in the middle of dressing. “She got it out of me.”

 

Tim raised a critical brow. “Which was it, then, she guessed, or got it out of you?”

 

“She...had an educated guess, and got it out of me to confirm it.”

 

Tim grumbled into his sandwich. Stephanie had tried and failed to get Tim to share what was going on with him the last few weeks, and evidently she took his pleas to drop the issue as permission to seek answers elsewhere.

 

“I’m sorry, but it just seemed unfair to her. She’s my friend, she’s your friend...I just wanted her to hear it from one of us first. Before the gala. I mean, it’d be nice to have her on our side there, right?”

 

“What, in case a brawl breaks out?” Tim snarked. Though really, he shouldn’t speak so soon. He wouldn’t put it past any of them to be above a fight. Meanwhile, Jason was eating his sandwich with all the vigor of a scolded puppy, but Tim wasn’t feeling all that soft at the moment, and he didn’t think it was because Jason talked to Stephanie before talking with him about it. The discomfort lodged in his spine came more from the fact that Jason was right. Stephanie was friends to them both, and in Tim’s case, she was one of his oldest, most trusted and beloved friends.

 

And he still couldn’t have just been honest with her. Tim hadn’t even so much as hinted to Kon that he was seeing someone, and Kon was the easiest person in the universe for him to open up to. The only reason Steph was even in the loop was because proximity made it difficult to hide. But why even hide from them?

 

With a sinking feeling, he realized why Stephanie hadn’t called. He had been a terrible friend.

 

“You’re right,” Tim said. Jason snapped to attention, with a surprised look that Tim knew he deserved. “I should’ve just talked to her.”

 

“Maybe. Yeah,” Jason said easily, finishing up his sandwich. He rose and started to change into the clothes Alfred left. “I’m going to go before Daddy Bats is back. Will you be okay for the gala tomorrow?”

 

Tim nodded, leaning up for Jason’s kiss, who lingered, and then came back for one more. “Perfect. I still need to shine my formal dress guns, but otherwise, I’m ready to party.”

 

“Jason,” Tim laughed as Jason strode away, throwing Tim a look over his shoulder.

 

“Kidding!” he called behind him. Tim flopped back onto the cot and stayed there long after the echoes of Jason’s engine quieted.

 

The bubble had popped.

 

Tim’s gut boiled with guilt. He shouldn’t waste any more time before calling Stephanie, Cass, and Kon; honestly, at this point, he felt he should call Dick, too. They’d worked too hard to patch up their brotherhood for one secret--a happy secret, Tim insisted to himself--to ruin it. And even if Bruce didn’t get mad, he would be so, so disappointed. Tim felt he knew Bruce better than most, and disappointment was the best he could hope for from him.

 

He still had a speech to write, too. Nothing major, just a short one to express his gratitude and reaffirm the company’s faith in him. A piece of cake for a man with a concussion and god knows what illness will develop after nearly drowning in Gotham’s sewers, right?

 

“Master Tim, please dress. You are positively blue.”

 

Tim’s eyes flew open. Alfred was standing by, looking concerned with an outstretched hand. Christ, he was about to fall asleep down here, in nothing but a wet towel and very sore brain. Tim accepted the help, Alfred’s smooth, warm hands feeling like a balm. “I’ll be up soon.”

 

“Very well,” Alfred said, leaving once again. There it was, the guilt again. Alfred was too practiced in calmness, but he knew he was worrying him sick, and making him keep a secret to boot.

 

Tim dressed quickly, grateful for Alfred’s choice to bring him sweats and a fleece long sleeve. He hoped there would be soup or something upstairs, though, because it would take more than that to warm him through. In any case, Tim decided with a shiver as he made his way upstairs slowly and on unsteady feet, he would need far more than soup to feel ready for tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh gosh. this got so, so long, i had to break it up into two chapters! so the final one is yet to come, though not far behind. sorry for the delay!! i started a new job just after the new year, and very suddenly, too (as in, quit my old job and started the new one all in the same day, sudden!). 
> 
> i feel like this meanders so much, but i wanted to incorporate the 'telling the family' bits you all wanted while still maintaining the ending i had in mind. i hope it all lives up to your expectations, and thank you for reading <3 i look forward to your comments now more than ever!!! u___u


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